


Crossroads of Life

by tangledupinmist



Category: Call the Midwife
Genre: Aid work, F/M, Modern AU, series 2 au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-24
Updated: 2018-08-16
Packaged: 2019-05-13 10:10:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 41,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14746854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tangledupinmist/pseuds/tangledupinmist
Summary: Shelagh Mannion, aid worker for Nonnatus Mission in Moshi, Tanzania and Patrick Turner, director of a research programme, have been working in the same field for five years. Only recently things are beginning to change and both feel they are at a crossroads of life.





	1. Under Pressure

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first attempt at creating an AU. The story takes place in 2011 in Moshi, Tanzania where lots of aid organizations are working.  
> I used to work in the region about a decade ago, hence I am familiar with the country and general context. I am not a medical professional, though, and even though I did some research, all errors are exclusively mine.   
> Writing about a story set in this particular context has its difficulties. I hope that I manage to avoid the usual stereotypes when writing about an aid context which has to be seen in the tradition of colonialism/postcolonialism. I have been careful to do justice to an adequate portrayal of local particularities, but I am happy to be corrected if there is anything you disagree with.   
> Thanks a lot to the incredible @weshallc for beta-ing.

#  Chapter 1 – Under Pressure

Dr Patrick Turner sighed. There were still two donor reports to be written and the applications for the post of a research assistant to be looked over. Also, with the end of the year approaching quickly, he had to finalize all financial reporting with the accountant – a task he was running dangerously late with. And now, the much needed copy machine had broken down.

So far, his day had actually been a good day and he had wanted to go home in a happy mood. Earlier, he had received confirmation that the TB research programme he had developed over the past year would be fully funded by DFID, the UK Department for International Development. With the amount of 5 million Pounds, he would be able to fund a new, modern research lab. In addition, he could also hire four new staff and fund research into prevention and treatment of TB in resource-poor communities.

Patrick Turner was the director of the partnership between Durham University and KCMC, Kilimanjaro Christian Medical Hospital, in Moshi, Tanzania. His tasks included the overall administration of the programme as well as implementing his own research project on the improvement of antenatal care in district hospitals. He also was responsible for providing trainings to medical students both from Tanzania and the UK.

He was indeed a busy man. He had always liked his work, although lately he felt a little overwhelmed. A little over a year ago, his wife, Marianne, had died unexpectedly, leaving him a widower and single father of a ten-year old boy. Patrick loved his work but at the same time, he often felt he was failing his son, unable to be with him as much as Timothy deserved.

After Marianne Turner’s death, father and son both had decided they wanted to stay in Moshi rather than return to London where they had lived before. Both had been afraid of leaving a life they had grown used to over the past years. Thus Patrick had asked their housekeeper Teresa to stay on more hours and watch Timothy. He also tried to do at least part of his work from home in the late afternoon and at night once his son was asleep.

With his position came a very high workload – which after Marianne’s death also served to numb the pain of his grief. Because Marianne had always supported his dedication to his work, Patrick carried on like he did before her death. In the five years he had held his position, he had instigated several research programmes but he considered his most recent TB programme the most important one.

Tuberculosis – TB – was one of the major health problems in Tanzania. With the country’s notoriously underfunded health sector, any disease was a problem, but for a long time now, TB had been a serious concern when it came to maternal health, Patrick’s specialization.

Patrick had developed his most recent research programme aiming at improving the prevention and treatment options of the disease suitable for poor communities. To be fair, the idea for the programme and a great deal of working out the details had to be credited to his colleague Shelagh Mannion. Shelagh, employed by British religious organization Nonnatus Mission, had approached him about six months ago with her idea and he had thankfully taken it up because it nicely fit his own interests.

Patrick, still standing in front of the copy machine, its lid open, remembered he needed to tell Shelagh the good news, as she had been working so hard on the proposal. He sighed again. He was supposed to teach a workshop for medical students the next day and urgently needed to copy dozens of hand-outs and lists.

“Bloody idiot,” he muttered, angry at himself for leaving things to the very last minute. He checked his watch. It was 6.30 pm already and the small stationary shop down the road would be closed by now.

Patrick groaned. Then he returned to his desk, saved all open documents and shut down his laptop. He gathered papers, his computer and his phone and locked his office door. He would just try his luck and pass by Nonnatus Mission on his way home, asking to use their copy machine. Hopefully, he would see Shelagh and could tell her the good news. At least then he could kill two birds with one stone.

Nonnatus Mission, run by an order of British Anglican Sisters, had been known for its antenatal care and community outreach programme for almost thirty years. They had an enviable reputation for their ground-breaking work providing services to poor communities. Patrick had soon come to appreciate them as his favourite partner organization.

Originally staffed by nuns only, more and more secular women had been employed in recent years. They were now regularly looking for trained nurses and midwives for hire due to the fact that fewer and fewer women felt a religious calling.

What’s more, unlike other aid organizations, Nonnatus Mission had become pioneers in training local nurses and midwives employing them as regular staff. This set them apart from most other larger aid organizations where most positions at programme level were staffed with expats. Nonnatus Mission saw the potential for equipping an enthusiastic available workforce with the necessary skills to serve their own community.

Twice a month, Patrick volunteered at the Nonnatus antenatal clinic. Quite a large number of clients could not afford to see a doctor. Thus Nonnatus Mission made sure that there was always at least one doctor, local or expat, present during clinic to check patients if considered necessary, by the midwives tending to them. Patrick greatly appreciated the opportunity of working with real patients in addition to his regular job, full of paperwork and meetings and telephone conferences. And therefore he was as grateful to the Nonnatuns as they were to him for giving him the opportunity of both applying his skills but also learning a little more about local culture.

Originally qualified as a GP Patrick Turner had also specialized in obstetrics. Throughout the 1980s he had worked at the Royal London Hospital. Between 1991 and 1995 he had worked in different countries with Doctors Without Borders before settling down in London again in 1997. He had completed a PhD in Public Health at the London School of Hygiene and Tropical Medicine and subsequently become an Assistant Professor in their Department of Global Health and Development.

During this time, he also got married and became a father. In 2006, when their son Timothy had just turned five, the Turners felt it was time for a change again and had relocated to Moshi where Patrick, by recommendation of a former colleague and friend, had found his current position.

Patrick walked across the parking lot towards his battered car. Rashidi, one of the watchmen, called: “Good night, Dr Turner. See you tomorrow.”

“Good night, Rashidi,” Patrick said absent-mindedly. He climbed into his car, which was spotlessly clean from the outside, and wondered why Rashidi kept washing his dusty car every day anew – or, for that matter, why anyone here would bother washing their cars daily, when they were dusty again a mere ten minutes after every wash.

But well, in the five years he had been living here in Moshi, near Mount Kilimanjaro, he had learned a lot, but this was one of those things just would probably never understand about the local people.

He thought about Shelagh whom he had gotten to know a little better while working together on the TB proposal for several months. She knew quite a lot about Tanzanian society and he had often listened intently to her explaining about practices and customs which then suddenly seemed to make sense. He admired that she was fluent in Swahili and thus able to easily talk to anyone while he, embarrassingly, still wasn’t even able to greet properly.

When Patrick turned around the car key, the CD he had been listening to this morning began to play again. Queen’s “Under Pressure” played at a very high volume. It was the perfect song to describe his present state of mind, Patrick thought desperately.

At least he might get to see Shelagh while at Nonnatus, he thought. Shelagh, … Patrick would have liked to dwell a little longer about her wit and intelligence, paired with those appealing blue eyes - but as he had already entered the campus of Moshi International School, he shook himself out of his daydream.

He had to pick up his ten-year-old Timothy from choir practice for the Christmas musical. Patrick secretly prided himself on not having forgotten to pick up his son. Usually, his housekeeper and nanny, Teresa, would pick up Timothy after school but not when his extracurricular activities ended this late.

Much to his son’s dismay, Patrick told him that he needed to make a short detour to Nonnatus Mission.

“Dad, I am tired and hungry. Why do you always have to work?” the boy had complained. “You could have sent Teresa to get me, then I would at least have dinner on time. And I hate your music. It’s dull.”  

Patrick sighed and felt guilt nagging him, but he couldn't help it. He needed those copies and Timothy just had to go with it for now. Even though it made him slightly angry to give in to his son, he turned off the music.

He loved the music of the 1980s, the decade he had come of age, he had studied for his profession and met Timothy’s mother. Marianne, a journalist and an expert on contemporary art, had always made fun of his taste in music being stuck in the 1980s, but he did not mind. He might not know a lot about music, but he knew what he liked.

Patrick and Timothy spent the rest of their drive in silence. When they arrived at the gate of Nonnatus Mission, Patrick honked his horn and shortly after, one of the watchmen on duty opened it for him. Patrick nodded his greeting and drove to the car park. Timothy was still pouting and refused to come inside with him. The boy had found a half-empty bag of peanuts in the glove compartment and slowly nibbled them away, still flashing angry looks at his father.

Patrick raised his eyebrows at his son and told him to stay in the car until he got back. He walked towards the entrance of the main house in quick strides where he met Sister Julienne, the head of the Mission. She had stepped out to see who had arrived at this time.

“Dr Turner, long time no see”, she said. “Is there anything the matter?”

“Good evening, Sister Julienne”, Patrick greeted her. “I am sorry to disturb you so late. To start with, I have good news: The TB programme Shelagh has worked on with me, finally got approved.”

“Congratulations, this is indeed wonderful news. Please, come inside,” she nodded towards the entrance. “Is that Timothy in your car?”

Patrick said defeatedly: “Yes, but I am afraid I upset him and he didn’t want to come with me. I am sorry.”

“Oh no, don’t be,” Sister Julienne said. “Perhaps I can coax him come out with the prospect of a slice of cake? Bee just made one of our favourites today, I think.”

Patrick smiled a weary smile. “Well, you may try, though I doubt it will work. I think his anger is sitting deep tonight. And actually, I did not just come to announce the good news. I also have a favour to ask.”

Sister Julienne raised her eyebrows in question.

“Might I use your copy machine? Ours has broken down again and I need a few copies for a seminar beginning early tomorrow morning.”

“Of course you may”, Sister Julienne replied warm-heartedly. “Please just go through to my office and feel free to use the machine there. And I’ll talk to Master Timothy.”

Patrick smiled at her thankfully and hurried inside. He held Sister Julienne in high esteem. In fact, he appreciated working with all of the Nonnatuns. They were a Christian mission but he found them to be a lot more down-to-earth in their day-to-day approach than many of his colleagues from other non-denominational organizations that he knew.

The mission was staffed with three religious sisters and four medical professionals who were responsible for the actual programme management of the different activities. In addition to two drivers, the cook Bee and Fred, the logistics manager.

Sister Julienne was the Superior. Stern Sister Evangelina, British like Sister Julienne, was responsible for the coordination of midwifery training. Sister Winifred, a vibrant Kenyan, was in charge of a programme supporting orphaned school children.

Then there was Shelagh Mannion, a Scottish nurse and midwife, whom Patrick secretly considered the most competent member of staff. She was responsible for antenatal and maternal health outreach programmes. These provided regular visits with mobile clinics to remote villages.

Trixie Franklin, another Brit, also nurse and midwife, oversaw the antenatal services housed at Nonnatus Mission. Cynthia Miller, a Tanzanian-British nurse, was responsible for community health education programmes catering to local schools, churches and other institutions.

Also there were two Tanzanian nurses, Jane Appleby, married to a British missionary and Patience Maunto. Jane worked with Shelagh on her outreach programme, while Patience referred to herself as “firewoman”, working wherever she was needed the most at the time.

Patrick walked through the cool corridor inside Nonnatus Mission’s main house where the offices, kitchen and dining hall were located. He heard muffled noises from the end of the hall and silently cursed at himself for having disturbed the Nonnatuns during their dinner time. The hallway smelled of ginger and garlic and he thought that even though Teresa, his housekeeper, was a decent cook, the few times he had had the opportunity of eating at Nonnatus had found him very much in favour of Bee and the cook’s excellent skills.

When Patrick entered Sister Julienne’s office, he noticed Shelagh’s slender figure sitting at the desktop computer at the Superior’s desk.

“Shelagh”, he exclaimed. “Still working? Should you not have dinner by now?”

Patrick knew that Nonnatus Mission ran a tight schedule and that meals were usually taken by all staff together. Shelagh flinched and looked up from her work. When she recognized him, she smiled shyly. “Greetings, Doctor. What brings you to us at this hour?”

Unlike most other expats, Patrick was not called by his first name by most colleagues. Somehow “Dr Turner” had gotten stuck with him.

“Sister Julienne kindly allowed me to use her copy machine,” Patrick explained.

Shelagh nodded. “I see,” she said and looked at her watch. “Uh, it’s dinner time already. I was doing research on a new antiretroviral regimen for newborns they are testing in South Africa and I must have gotten carried away.”

Patrick smiled. He and Shelagh had been colleagues for about five years; she had arrived at Moshi shortly after himself. Until two years ago she had regularly worked at the antenatal clinics, where he had witnessed her being an excellent midwife.

Unlike bubbly colleague Trixie Franklin, Shelagh was rather quiet and hardly ever talked about herself. After having worked with her a bit more intimately over the TB proposal for the past months. Patrick had begun to see her in a different light. Not only was Shelagh an excellent medical professional, she also had humour and wit. He admired her compassion and how she acted so completely unimpressed by her achievements. He even found that her modesty and her complete lack of vanity made her quite attractive.

“Well, to brighten up your mood a little more,” he said, “I have just received the news that they are going to fund our proposal.”

“They are?” Shelagh cheered, “This is wonderful news. You should stay and have dinner with us to celebrate.”

“I am afraid, I can’t.” Patrick said with a sad undertone. “I need to get these copies done and then I’ll have to be off. Timothy is with me, but he’s in a bad mood, so I should hurry up and get us home as soon as possible.”

Shelagh nodded. She had shut down the computer and gotten up from her chair. “I am sorry,” she said. “How has he been recently?”

During their work on the proposal, Patrick had occasionally spoken about his life as a single father and how much it burdened him.

“Oh, he’s holding up well, I think,” Patrick said sadly. “It’s been almost a year now. To tell you the truth, I am a little afraid of the holidays, though. It will be the first Christmas without his mother. And I am afraid it might undo things. At least, Granny will be with us this year. We’ll pick her up from the airport next Friday.”

Shelagh looked at him compassionately. “You see, Dr Turner, I can tell you that children are a lot more resilient than you think. I speak from experience. I lost my mother when I was very young. It was hard on me but I got through.”

Patrick wanted to reply but was halted by Trixie Franklin: “Doctor Turner, I am sorry to interrupt. But I am afraid your son is getting rather bored outside. He has turned up the radio rather loudly.”

Patrick groaned. “That boy,” he muttered.

“Here, let me handle your copies, Dr Turner. You go and take Timothy home.” Shelagh said.

“But I’d have to come back to pick the copies up,” Patrick responded, his voice tired.

“Never mind. When do you need them, tomorrow?” She asked.

“7.30 am at my office,” he replied.

“I will send them over with Omari, our night watchman. He can drop them off after his shift tomorrow morning.”

Patrick beamed at Shelagh. “You are my saviour tonight, do you know that?”

Shelagh blushed slightly. “Well, I would not use this word under this roof,” she said, “But, thank you.”

Patrick handed Shelagh the folder with the sheets to be copied and watched the young woman intently. He was aware of the rather strict rules imposed on all staff of Nonnatus Mission. It was expected that they were members of the Church of England and also lived by their faith. Moreover, there was a fairly strict code of ethics regarding relationships between men and women. Relationships at the workplace generally were not allowed and unmarried nurses were not to have male visitors.

Patrick himself was an agnostic. While he had the highest respect for the Sisters, he never quite understood their deep religiosity. He had always found the regulations Nonnatus Mission placed on their employees slightly out-dated and wondered who would want to take on such a job. But according to Sister Julienne, applications were few but regular.

He was shaken out of his thoughts by Shelagh’s clear voice: “Is there anything else, Doctor?”

Now it was his turn to blush, feeling caught in his thoughts. “No, no, thank you, Shelagh, I should be hurrying or else, Sister Julienne will impose an order for us to stay away from here in the future.”

Shelagh watched Dr Turner disappear into the corridor. She had felt sorry for him ever since he had been widowed so suddenly. Marianne Turner had been an occasional volunteer with Nonnatus Mission. Shelagh had always liked seeing the Turners together. They were friendly and helpful with everyone. Unlike most other expats Shelagh knew, they lacked the kind of cynical neo-colonial attitude very many white people living and working in developing countries showed.

After Mrs. Turner’s sudden death, Shelagh had felt especially sorry for young Timothy Turner. Her own mother had died when she was only eight years old, thus she knew about a child’s grief. But during the past months, she had also come to see more deeply into Dr Turner’s inner conflicts over being a widower with a young son.

He had increasingly let her look behind his jovial façade. Shelagh had found him often rather weary and she could tell that he felt guilty, for not being able to make as much time for his young son as he wanted to.

“Shelagh, are you coming?” Shelagh flinched. She had forgotten about Trixie still standing in the doorframe, waiting for Shelagh to join her to go to the dining room.

“Poor man,” Trixie said while the two women slowly wandered along the corridor. “He looks so sad all the time since his wife died. And did you notice his shirt was lacking two buttons?”

Shelagh was not in the mood for discussing the doctor’s appearance and said “Trixie, this is none of our business, don’t you think? Speak more respectful of him, please.”

Trixie frowned and walked on. She had been working together with Shelagh for almost five years now and while she appreciated her for her non-obtrusive manner, Shelagh could be a real spoilsport when it came to gossiping about certain people.


	2. Should I stay or should I go?

#  Chapter 2 – Should I stay or should I go

About four weeks later, Dr Turner entered the compound of Nonnatus Mission again. After he parked his car, he walked straight to Sister Julienne’s office who was already waiting for him.

“Dr Turner, thank you for coming in immediately,” she greeted.

“I am sorry about the cause of my visit,” he said, his voice quiet.

A young mother, Asha Shamar, who had regularly attended the antenatal clinic at Nonnatus Mission, had given birth to a health baby boy. Sadly, Cynthia Miller had found the little boy dead in his mother’s bed five days later.

Dr Turner had been the physician present during Asha’s last check-up at clinic, just days before she had given birth. Sister Julienne had therefore requested him to go over Cynthia’s notes in order to rule out any neglect on the nurse’s side. Both were certain no irregularities would be found, but Sister Julienne wanted the doctor to write a short report to be submitted to the police.

“You can sit in my office,” Sister Julienne said. “Unfortunately, I have to go out; I need to see the bishop about another rather urgent matter. But Shelagh is about to bring in the notes and will be around if you need anything else.”

Sister Julienne left the room and Patrick looked around. Sister Julienne’s office was furnished functionally as one would expect a mission office. There was a desk, three chairs and a few filing cabinets, all made from the dark wood local carpenters usually used. In one corner, there was also a small extra table with two chairs. Everything was spotlessly clean and tidy.

Patrick sat down at the extra table, putting his backpack containing his laptop and some files on the second chair.

“Greetings, Doctor,” he heard Shelagh’s voice when she entered the door. “Here are all of Cynthia’s notes. And you are most welcome to join us for dinner afterwards. For the meantime, I brought you a cup of coffee. It is only _Africafe_ , the instant one, but I hope this is all right?”

“Thank you, Shelagh. And I don’t mind at all. Although, to be honest, I don’t understand how people can really drink this stuff when they live in a coffee-growing area like Kilimanjaro. But to tell you the truth, anything slightly reminiscent of coffee is welcome this time of the day.”

Shelagh gave him a small smile. He looked awfully tired, she thought. “Is there anything else I can get you, Dr Turner?” she asked.

Patrick looked at her wearily. “Some of your faith, perhaps,” he said. “It is at times like this I wish I had one.”

“I wish at times like this, it made a difference,” she replied quietly while turning around to leave the room. Patrick stopped in his movement putting down his cup. He had not expected her of all people to say words like these.

He suddenly felt intrigued and said: “Please stay, take coffee with me.”

Shelagh stopped and looked at him: “Thank you, but I am expected in the dining room.” She was about to turn again, when Patrick said: “Wait.” She looked at him questioningly and for a moment he was lost, not knowing what to say.

“Erm, I haven’t thanked you for your dinner invitation yet,” he said meekly. “But I am afraid I have to decline. As soon as I am done with the notes”, he nodded towards the folder Shelagh had placed in front of him, “I need to head home to Timothy. I promised him I would be there for dinner tonight, even though it will be a rather late dinner, I am afraid.”

Shelagh smiled. “Please say hello to Timothy from me. It’s been a while since I last saw him.”

“I will,” Patrick nodded, desperately thinking of what else to say to keep her in the room for just a bit longer, but Shelagh had already left.

Patrick sighed. Since he had been working with her on their TB proposal he kept thinking about her at odd hours of day or night. He even imagined conversations he might have with her about a case at work or alone at home, going over his day.

It was not just loneliness, he had come to understand. Living with his young son, he missed having adult conversations, apart from those at work. And it wasn’t just the talking but the unique insights and her mostly hidden but clearly appealing humour he had come to appreciate.

He began to realize that he did not just think of her as a friend. He suddenly seemed to care for the way her nose wrinkled when she smiled or her surprising him with that rather bold remark about faith just now. And he admired her beauty. He had always thought her rather beautiful, but only recently he wondered how her skin might feel under the touch of his fingers or whether her eyes could change shades according to her mood.

He even began noticing details of her wardrobe, he who could not tell an appropriate from an inappropriate tie. Such as the scarf she was wearing tonight. She had been wearing the same one that night four weeks ago, he realized, when he had last seen her, here in this same office. It was a cotton scarf with a pattern of narrow stripes of different shades of blue. He admired how the scarf brought out the blue of her eyes.

Patrick shook himself out of his contemplation. He needed to go through those papers in front of him quickly, or else there would be another quarrel with Timothy at night. He was already in danger of running late.

Shelagh returned to the dining room where everyone else was already sitting at the table, waiting for her. She had always enjoyed the spirit of community at Nonnatus Mission expressed through the shared meals. She regretted though, at this particular moment, that she had declined Doctor Turner’s invitation to have coffee with him. Shelagh sat down and helped herself to some soup from the bowl in the middle of the table.

Why would she feel disappointed about sitting here with her colleagues and friends rather than sharing coffee with the doctor? She held him in high esteem as a colleague but she never before had felt the need to get to know him outside their professional realm.

She took a sip of her tea and tried to focus on other things when Cynthia asked: “Shelagh, may I ask a favour of you?”

“Of course,” Shelagh replied, startled out of her thoughts.

“Is it possible that you cover the family planning session at KCMC in two weeks time? I just received an invitation to present our programme at the District Education Office, something I have been waiting for for ages.”

“Yes, I can do that. It is Wednesday afternoon, right?”

“Yes, 3 pm,” Cynthia replied.

Shelagh took in a deep breath and helped herself to some more soup. She liked keeping herself busy and this would help her to focus on what mattered most to her, her work. Nothing else.

But later that night, she still was not able to turn her mind away from Dr Turner and his aura of weariness. Shelagh had retreated to her room in the Nurses’ Quarter, a one-story building with a corrugated iron roof like all others built on the premises of the mission.

The building was located in the quiet back of the compound. It had six bedrooms, kitchen, bathroom and a comfortable living room. Shelagh shared it with Trixie, Patience and Cynthia. The two vacant rooms were occasionally used as guest rooms. While the nurses generally shared the meals with the Sisters, they often spent their evenings in their own living room. They loved watching the latest films on DVDs bought as pirate copies at local market stalls or, sometimes, legal copies sent from caring friends and family back home.

This particular night Shelagh had not felt like watching with the others. She lay on her bed and listened to the sounds of the night: the chirping of the cicadas in the garden, the occasional cracking sounds of the corrugated iron roof and the muffled laughter from her colleagues in the living room. Every few minutes, a strong breeze made the leaves of the trees outside rustle.

Though the sun would cause rather hot temperatures during daytime, Moshi was located at an altitude where it cooled down at night. With dawn, there usually began the chase between the warm and cool layers of air, causing a refreshing wind blowing through town.

On other nights when she did not feel like having company, Shelagh might have listened to the news on either BBC World Service or BBC Swahili or read a novel, but tonight it calmed her to just listen to the concert going on in the garden.

Shelagh had joined Nonnatus Mission almost ten years ago, just after finishing her training as a nurse and midwife in London. When she had heard Sister Julienne speak at a charity event, introducing Nonnatus Mission and their overseas work, she instantly knew that this was what she wanted to do.

Shelagh’s father had been a missionary and she had spent the first eight years of her life in Malawi. After her mother had died, Shelagh and her father had returned to Scotland. She had never deliberately intended to return to an African country – but while listening to Sister Julienne speaking passionately about Nonnatus Mission’s work, something inside her fell into place. Shelagh was fascinated by their innovative approach to caring for mothers and infants in resource-poor areas of the world and she knew instantly that this was what she was called to do.

As per policy of Nonnatus Mission, overseas staff had to have at least five years of professional experience. Thus, Sister Julienne referred Shelagh to Nonnatus House, a home for young mothers living in difficult circumstances in Poplar, London. There, Shelagh had been in charge of the antenatal services, a low-threshold intervention catering for pregnant, unmarried girls and women afraid of turning to state authorities.

She also had worked part-time at The London Hospital to gain work experience as a midwife. After exactly five years, she had applied for a transfer to an African country. Luckily, just then, Sister Julienne had been looking for a new outreach coordinator for the Moshi mission.

Since her very first days at Nonnatus House, Shelagh had considered joining the order of St. Raymond Nonnatus. She had been on retreat at the Mother House in Chichester several times, praying with the Sisters and having counselling sessions with the Mother Superior. Yet, both her father and Sister Julienne, with whom she stayed in contact after their first meeting, had suggested she should wait a few more years to make the final decision. While they did not doubt her calling, both, experienced in religious life, wanted her to get to know herself better as an adult to be entirely certain she made the right decision.

Right now, lying on her bed in the Nurses’ Quarter in Moshi, Shelagh sighed deeply. She had increasingly been feeling an inner unrest for the past few months, but was unable to detect its cause. She wondered whether God might be suggesting that it was time to finalize her decision to join the order.

Shelagh was certain that it was not her work that caused this strange kind of distress. She did what she loved. But perhaps she was not sufficiently committed. Perhaps as a religious Sister she would be able to do even more good. Her life would follow certain rules, allowing her to focus on her work, hopefully putting an end to this unrest that was becoming a worry to her.

Shelagh wondered what Dr Turner might say if he knew about her plan. His words “Some of your faith perhaps,” replayed in her head a few times, until she startled at her thoughts. Why would she think of Dr Turner of all people now?

He was rather handsome, she thought, slightly blushing. Not exactly young anymore, at least fifteen years older than her. She faintly remembered his very distinct scent, one that she had come to recognize over the past months working a little closer with him. She swallowed hard. It was inappropriate to think about him this way.

Shelagh had always liked the doctor’s friendly and respectful manner. But ever since their joint work on the TB programme, she had come to truly appreciate his kindness. Moreover, she had begun to gain a few glimpses behind his normally jovial façade. She liked how much he cared about his son and had learned how much he struggled to balance his responsibilities as a father with that of his demanding work while always feeling so very guilty. Occasionally the grief over his late wife’s death and his loneliness surfaced and touched her heart.

Shelagh had never thought of any man as interesting. Her friends back at college kept making fun of her being so uptight. And when she had announced she would take up a post with Nonnatus Mission, no one had truly been surprised. Some had even commented that she soon would become a nun which would not change anything about her lifestyle save for her wearing a habit. They had been so correct, Shelagh thought.

Everything had been so easy back then when she had graduated. She had clearly seen her path in front of her. But now, she felt confused. And why would she think about Dr Turner outside of work anyway? Now and here certainly was neither right nor appropriate. As per Nonnatus Mission workplace policy, Dr Turner was considered a partner since he and the mission had signed a partnership agreement. Thus, a personal relationship was out of the question – but this was not what she wanted anyway. Her work and making a difference in people’s lives were what mattered to her.

She needed to see Sister Julienne, she decided. She needed counselling and she needed to start the procedure to become a postulant. This would put her mind at peace.


	3. Always On My Mind

#  Chapter 3 – Always on my mind

One week later, Shelagh and Trixie stood in line at the entrance of Nairobi International Conference Centre. They were waiting to register as participants of the regional HIV/AIDS in Mothers and Infants conference. It was organized by the German Development Cooperation as a means to bring together development practitioners from across the region to learn about successful approaches in care and treatment of the deadly disease.

As every event like this, it was also an important opportunity for networking and for socializing – even though Shelagh usually skipped these parts if possible. She enjoyed talking about her work with anyone she met in between the sessions, but she shied away from small talk and even more from going for drinks and spending long nights in bars or dance clubs.

After having received their badges and other materials, the two women went to the main lecture hall in order to secure themselves two seats for the opening session. Just then, Shelagh’s phone rang. She looked at the screen and murmured, irritated: “Dr Turner?” Trixie looked at her, slightly confused.

Shelagh spoke for a short time, ended the call and said: “Dr Turner will be running late. He asks us to keep him a seat.”

Trixie rolled her eyes. “This man is such a mess,” she complained. “I mean, I like him, and he does a very good job at clinic, but he is so disorganized. I really don’t know how he manages without his wife.”

“Trixie,” Shelagh scolded, “This is none of our business.”

“Oh Shelagh, you are too proper for this world. I don’t mean to gossip, honestly. I am just stating the facts.”

The two took their seats near an aisle so that the delayed doctor would find them easily. He arrived about 45 minutes into the opening session.

“Thank you very much for saving me a seat,” he whispered to them while sitting down. “I apologize for being late.” Both Nonnatuns looked at him, Trixie slightly amused while Shelagh looked genuinely happy.

Later, the three ate their lunch together before dispersing to different panel discussions.  Before leaving, Patrick had suggested they should take coffee together afterwards and he was secretly happy to only meet Shelagh alone at the cafeteria at the agreed time.

“Where is Trixie?” he asked, feigning interest in order to conceal his delight at getting to spend some time alone with Shelagh.

“She met a former colleague and they went out to get some air. She will be back for the next session, I think.”

“Good,” Patrick said, “Well, good for her, to meet a friend, I mean,” he quickly added after noticing Shelagh’s slightly confused expression.

“Should we sit somewhere?” he changed the topic.

“Yes, let’s go over there by the window,” Shelagh replied thankfully. She agreed when Patrick suggested he fetch them coffee and smiled when he returned with coffee and two slices of cake.

“This probably won’t be able to remotely compete with Bee’s cakes, but I could use something sugary to keep my spirits up,” he said. “And you need to eat, too,” he said while placing cake and coffee in front of her. “You never sit still, you must burn three times the amount of calories of an average human being,” he added in an affectionate voice.

Shelagh chuckled and happily took a sip from her cup.

They sat in silence for a while, until Patrick who had spent the past moments desperately seeking for something to say to end the silence, said: “So, what are your plans while being here?”

“What do you mean?” Shelagh asked.

“Well, whom do you want to meet, for example? I mean this is such a big networking show, you certainly have some plans in this department?”

“Oh, well, I mainly came here because we were requested to present our approach in home-based care. I hope I get some contacts we can build on, but I am afraid I am not much of a networker,” Shelagh replied slightly embarrassed.

Patrick, feeling sorry for having embarrassed her, quickly stated: “Oh well, I am not particularly good at it either. I only want to meet this guy from DFID to discuss the TB programme. You know, they assigned a new desk officer to our programme again. I don’t know why every time I speak to them, I have a new contact person,” he complained.

When Shelagh nodded politely, he cursed at himself internally. She would never publicly complain the way he just did. She was just too polite. Thus, in a desperate attempt to change the topic, he asked: “Where are you staying at?”

“We are at the A.C.K. Guesthouse,” she replied.

Of course, Patrick thought, members of Nonnatus House never went for the fancy hotels but would rather stay at a simple guesthouse, like the Anglican Church of Kenya Guesthouse.

“I am staying at the Hilton,” he said apologetically. “They had a conference package,” he added. “Would you – ?” he began but stopped abruptly. He wanted to ask her to have dinner with him but then lost his courage. She would certainly decline. Patrick faintly remembered that they always ate together at those Christian guesthouses and, moreover, he did not want her to feel overwhelmed by his presence.

But if he was honest to himself, in reality he was most afraid of her turning down his offer.

“Would I…?” Shelagh looked at him curiously.

“Oh, never mind,” he waved his previous words aside, “Nothing important.”

Shelagh raised her eyebrows but decided not to bother about his occasional confusion. They chatted animatedly for a while about their work, about Timothy and the food at conferences, until it was time for the next session and they parted ways.

The next morning, Patrick lingered in front of the entrance, smoking a few too many cigarettes while waiting for Shelagh and Trixie to arrive. When the two women walked towards the entrance, he greeted them heartily.

“Dr Turner, you are early,” Trixie teased. Patrick chose to ignore it and smiled at her.

“So big day for you? Presentation ready?” he asked, smiling encouragingly at Shelagh.

Shelagh raised her eyebrows. “Do you want a sneak preview?” she asked teasingly. Patrick was at a momentary loss of words. He had hardly ever experienced her bantering and he liked it. It added another facet to his growing mosaic of adoration of her.

“Erm, well, how about you tell me the main points over lunch today?” he asked.

“I thought you were here to network,” Shelagh mocked. “You should have lunch with someone else than us old ladies from back home.”

“Well, truth be told, you two ladies are lovely and I would prefer you over probably anyone else at this event.”

Shelagh blushed and turned her gaze away from him while Trixie laughed heartily and said “Thanks for ignoring the “old”, Dr Turner.”

“I have to get going,” Shelagh said. “I am on at 8 sharp and I should check the LCD before I start.” She hurried inwards, leaving Dr Turner and Trixie alone. Patrick looked after her, slightly disappointed at her sudden departure.

“Oh the nerves,” Trixie commented. “She may be our hardest worker but she is an awful wreck when it comes to speaking publicly. She really hates it and she only does it for Nonnatus Mission.”

Patrick nodded absent-mindedly. He had grown increasingly fond of Shelagh’s modest manner and he regretted not being able to see her present. But a colleague from Durham gave a parallel session on the improvement of maternity services through better teaching facilities where he had to make an appearance.

Patrick did not meet Shelagh again until the final session of the day, a panel discussion on the improvement of maternal health. Both had sat in the room without seeing each other. Only after the session Shelagh noticed Patrick who had sat in the back of the room after having entered slightly late.

“Dr Turner, I did expect to see you here,” she said cheerfully when she approached him. Patrick got up from his chair and closed his laptop on which he had been typing an email.

“Shelagh, what a nice surprise.” He again felt the wish to ask her for dinner but shied away yet another time. Instead, he asked: “So Trixie is with her colleague again?”

“No, she went back to the guesthouse. She needs to finish her presentation for tomorrow” Shelagh explained.

Patrick checked his watch. It was five minutes after 5 pm. “Do you have to be back at a certain time?” he asked her.

“Dinner is at seven and I am already quite hungry, to be honest,” she replied.

Patrick pursed his lips. “Would you want me to walk you home?” he asked.

“Thank you very much,” she said, “but Jimmy will be picking me up in fifteen minutes.”

In accordance with travel and security policies of Nonnatus Mission, Shelagh and Trixie had been travelling to Nairobi by car with a driver who also drove them around town – officially at least; but both did sometimes sneak in a short walk.

“We can walk outside together, if you want?” she suggested.

“Yes, let’s go,” Patrick replied, quickly gathering his laptop and a few papers from below his chair.

Outside, he lit himself a cigarette and opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something when Shelagh’s phone rang. “Yes, Trixie” he heard her say. Then he watched her facial expression change from aghast to concentrated. “Yes, I will be back in half an hour at the latest. Dr Turner is here with me, should I bring him?” Patrick raised his eyebrows at her and Shelagh lifted her right hand to indicate she would tell him once she had ended the call.

Shelagh put her phone back into her pocket and looked at Patrick with an earnest expression. “This was Trixie. She is at the guesthouse. Apparently, one of the other guests has gone into labour and is strictly against being taken to hospital. Trixie asked me to come as quickly as I can. She also said something about a rather difficult sister as well. Would it be too much to ask you to come with me? Just in case?”

“Of course I will,” Patrick said, secretly thrilled at the opportunity of spending time on a case with Shelagh.


	4. Every little thing she does is magic

# Every little thing she does is magic

Half an hour later, Shelagh, followed by Patrick, entered A.C.K. Guesthouse. Immediately, one of the women at the reception waved at Shelagh. “Miss Mannion,” she exclaimed. “Miss Franklin is in room 44 with Mrs. Carter.”

“Thank you very much,” Shelagh said firmly and hurried into the direction of said room. Patrick followed her. Inside the room, they found a very pregnant, groaning woman laying on her back on the bed. Trixie was kneeling at the foot of the bed, in the process of examining the mother. When she noticed Shelagh and Dr Turner, Trixie slowly got up from the bed and approached them.

“Thank you for coming so quickly”, Trixie murmured relieved. “She is fully dilated now; this was progressing rather fast.” Shelagh nodded and rolled up the sleeves of her blouse. She noticed Dr Turner doing the same. She also saw that Trixie had already gathered some towels. As per Trixie’s request, Shelagh had also brought the well-stocked first aid kit from their duty car.

On their way to the guesthouse, Shelagh had briefly informed Patrick about what she knew about Mave Carter. She had sat next to Mave during dinner the day before and learned about the woman’s rather particular story.

Mave and her sister Meg were Mormon missionaries. They had come to Nairobi to take their husband to the airport as he needed to attend some family business in the US. They had planned to leave the next day; but apparently their plans had been spoiled by the onset of Mave’s labour.

Mave had explained to Shelagh that she did not believe in modern medicine and wanted to give birth at their hut in Turkana County, in the far North of Kenya, where they were posted. She had never once seen a doctor or midwife and planned to give birth with the help of a local midwife. According to Mave’s estimation, her baby would be due in more than four weeks. Shelagh had commented to Patrick that she believed Mave was further along but had not said anything to her.

Now, in Mave’s room with Trixie already in full midwife mode, Shelagh turned to Mave. “Mave, you are doing very well. You remember me, I am Shelagh Mannion. We were talking over dinner last night. I am a midwife just as Trixie and we are here to help you bring this baby into the world.”

“Where is Meg?” Mave cried. “I need her. The baby can’t come out just now.” Shelagh turned towards Trixie with a questioning expression.

Trixie shrugged her shoulders. “She left the room after I got here”, she explained. “Once her labour had begun, Mave asked to see any of us two for support”, she continued, “Her sister did not approve. Then they got into a fight.”

“Oh dear”, Shelagh whispered. Then she addressed the pregnant woman: “Now Mave, we will do this together. I assure you that you are in good hands between the three of us. I brought my colleague Dr Turner. He is an obstetrician and we will do anything we can to support you. But first, I suggest he goes out to look for Meg and let her know she’s needed in here. Is that all right with you?”

Mave nodded and grimaced in pain when the next contraction hit her. Shelagh looked at Patrick who instantly understood and left the room.

Trixie and Shelagh supported Mave for the next fifteen minutes during which the contractions got ever more intense. Trixie monitored the progress of the baby while Shelagh sat next to Mave’s head and let her squeeze her hand during every contraction.

“I can see the head, Mave, it won’t be long now”, Trixie announced after a particularly long and painful contraction. Just in this moment, Patrick entered the room. Shelagh looked at him and he nodded towards the door and rolled his eyes. Shelagh instantly understood that he had found Meg, but for whatever reason she did not want to enter the room.

Shelagh and Trixie kept motivating the crying and moaning Mave until, after a particularly shrill cry of the mother-to-be, Trixie exclaimed “Mave, you’re almost there, the head is born.” With the next contraction, barely a minute later, Mave’s little baby daughter entered the world, announcing her arrival by letting out a thin wail.

“Well done, Mave, I am so proud of you”, Shelagh said.

Trixie had already wrapped the baby into a towel and handed it to her mother. “Congratulations, Mave, to your beautiful baby girl. “

Shelagh got up from the chair she had sat on and slowly retreated from the bed until she stood next to Patrick. The two exchanged a happy grin and watched Trixie for a while who remained close to Mave, waiting for the afterbirth.

“I am going out to announce the glad tidings,” Patrick whispered after a long moment and left the room. A minute later, he entered again and murmured to Shelagh: “Well, the sister is outside but she does not want to come in. She said Mave does not need her, she has a baby now.”

Shelagh frowned and tried to think about what she might do when Trixie quietly called “Shelagh? Could you come over for a moment?”

Shelagh stepped up next to Trixie who whispered to her: “Something feels strange. No placenta yet, but the contractions seem to intensify again. I think there might be another baby coming.”

Shelagh took in a sharp breath. “Now Mave,” she addressed the mother, “I need to examine you to see where we are in the process. I’ll be as quick as possible.”

Patrick and Trixie watched Shelagh intently as she carefully palpated Mave’s abdomen, her facial expression highly concentrated, eyelids half-closed. When she was done, Shelagh released her breath, raised her eyebrows and looked at her colleagues. “Trixie, you were right.” Then she addressed Mave: “Mave, you are going to have a second baby, you are having twins.”

Mave moaned: “Oh no, I can’t do this another time, I don’t have any strength left. I just can’t.”

“Oh yes,” Shelagh encouraged her in her most motivational midwife-tone. “Yes, you can do it and Trixie and I are here to help you with it. You are almost there.”

Then she looked at Trixie and Patrick again. “Baby is in a transverse position. I need to turn it. Could you two please steady her?”

Shelagh looked around the room and murmured “ah” when she had found what she had been looking for. She walked to the bedside table next to Mave’s bed and took a small container of Vaseline. She opened it and generously spread the lubricant on Mave’s belly while explaining what she was doing to the labouring mother.

“Mave, this may hurt now, but we have to turn baby in order to bring him into the correct position for delivery.” In the meantime, Trixie, in an attempt to place the newborn safely, had opened a drawer of the chest of drawers next to the door and laid the baby onto Mrs. Carters’ clothes.

Shelagh put her hands on Mave’s abdomen and moved them in circles in an attempt to turn the baby while Patrick and Trixie steadied Mave’s arms and legs. Mave groaned in pain until a few minutes later, Shelagh announced that she was done, smiling relieved at her colleagues who had stepped back from the bed.

After a few more contractions, a surge of blood shot out from between Mave’s legs, followed by a piece of the placenta.

“Placenta is coming away,” Shelagh shouted, alerting Patrick and Trixie. “We have to get the baby out now.” All three immediately spurred into action. Without speaking a word, everyone took their positions. Trixie held Mave’s right hand and told her to squeeze it as much as she needed, Shelagh applied fundal pressure to help the baby come out and Patrick steadied the mother’s legs and waited for the head to be born.

Mave groaned louder and louder and suddenly let out a high-pitched cry of pain. Right after, the door flew open and a woman looking exactly like Mave came running in and shoved away Patrick. When Shelagh tried to grab the furious woman by the arm, she slapped Shelagh into her face, causing Patrick to step in between, shielding Shelagh from Meg’s rage.

“Mrs. Carter,” he shouted enraged. “We are trying to save your sister and her baby. Now please step back or you will risk further damage.”

“Meg, come over here,” Trixie commanded and tugged at the raging woman’s arm. She ushered her towards the bed and placed her next to a crying Mave’s head. Mave extended her arm and her sister gently took her hand.

Meanwhile, Shelagh, Trixie and Patrick had gone back to their positions and worked hand in hand to help the second twin into the world. A few short moments later, Patrick announcing: “head is born,” caused a sigh of relief among his co-workers. Not long after, the baby was delivered, with Patrick exclaiming “Another girl, Mave, congratulations.”

Shelagh grabbed a towel and rushed to take the baby from Patrick while he, assisted by Trixie, tried to stop the bleeding.

“Why isn’t she crying?” Mave anxiously asked, voice thin.

“We need to give her some time,” Shelagh murmured, and everyone looked at her as she gently rocked the baby back and forth. After moments that seemed like an eternity, a very thin wail emerged from the little bundle in Shelagh’s arms.

A tear run down Shelagh’s face and she whispered “Praise the lord.” Patrick who meanwhile had succeeded to stop Mave’s bleeding, swallowed hard. Something about watching Shelagh with a newborn baby in her arms moved him down to his core.

In the meantime, Trixie had taken the second twin from the drawer and the babies were handed to their mother. While Meg and Mave took turns admiring the little girls, Shelagh and Trixie began quietly cleaning the room. Patrick kept an eye on Mave in case further bleeding might occur.

After about one hour, mother and babies were declared healthy and stable enough to be left to rest on their own. Trixie offered to stay back for a few moments in order to assist with breastfeeding while Patrick and Shelagh left the room.

“Thank you for coming,” Shelagh addressed him while they were walking towards the main door.

“No need to thank me; I’m glad that I could be of help,” he replied.

“Well, the reception is closed at this time of night,” Shelagh said matter-of-factly, “but we could ask one of the watchmen to get a taxi for you.” Patrick nodded and Shelagh stepped outside and approached one of the two watchmen who sat near the entrance gate, drinking coke from the bottle.

When she returned she said: “One of them has called his brother-in-law who is a taxi driver. He will be here shortly.”

“Thank you,” Patrick said, smiling warmly at Shelagh. He was still processing the image of her holding the baby. “You were wonderful in there,” he said admiringly. “I always knew you were quite an accomplished midwife but I have now seen it with my own eyes. Congratulations.”

Shelagh blushed and smiled her shy smile. Patrick knew she was too modest to accept praise. “I’ll wait out here with you. A bit of fresh air will do me good after the heat inside,” she said, sitting down at the entrance step.

Patrick sat down next to her and lit a cigarette. “Ahh, I feel like an officer and a sergeant after the battle of the Somme,” he joked. “And that is not to say that I see myself as the officer.”

Shelagh looked at him a little bewildered. “The Somme?” she asked. “Why ever the Somme?”

Dr Turner chuckled. “Timothy and I just did some research on The Great War. He had to write an essay on his family and lucky for us, Granny Parker is a hobby genealogist. She sent us lots of the research she has done over the years. Apparently, one of his great-great-grand uncles died at the Somme. Tim had lots of questions about the war, that’s why it came to mind.”

Shelagh smiled and looked into the distance.

“I feel like I should offer you one,” Dr Turner said suddenly, waving his cigarette into her direction.

Shelagh breathed in audibly. “Just a puff, just a wee one,” she said in a low voice.

Patrick raised his eyebrows in surprise. He had never seen her smoke and had not expected her to take him up on his offer. He held out his cigarette for her and her fingers very gently brushed his hand when she took it from him.

“What are these?” she asked curiously after she had taken a drag.

“Embassy,” he replied. “This local stuff is just too cheap. I’ve wanted to quit ages ago, but I just keep buying them.”

“They remind me of my father’s. Henley’s were his brand,” Shelagh said. “I used to sneak out one from his desk sometimes when I was about fourteen,” she added.

Patrick smiled, trying to picture a fourteen-year-old Shelagh. He noticed that he hardly knew anything about her outside her professional life.

“Where was this?” he asked. “Somewhere in Scotland, I suppose?”

“Yes,” Shelagh replied. “Aberdeen. I grew up in Malawi, though”, she added after a short pause. “My parents were missionaries. Some time after my mother had died, my father and I returned to Scotland. He took a position with the diocese. He found it easier back home, raising me all by himself. Also, he wanted me to get a decent education.”

Shelagh fell silent and carefully handed him back his cigarette. Patrick took a drag and it struck him that she had held it in her mouth only seconds ago. He felt a tingling in his belly radiating through the whole of his body.

“Has he ever visited you here? Your father?” he asked.

“No, sadly not,” Shelagh answered. “He died a few months after I arrived here. My first trip home was the one to his funeral.”

Patrick bit his lips. “I am sorry for bringing this up,” he said quietly.

“Never mind,” Shelagh said. “It is all right. Just before I came here, we had a long talk and he told me that he wanted me to know that he was proud of me. I believe he had a foreboding about his death. He was not sick or unwell, but he must have sensed something.”

She paused for a long moment before she continued: “But I still miss him every day, very much. He was a wonderful father and a wonderful man.” She looked down at her feet and Patrick felt the strong urge to put his arm around her shoulders and hold her tight. But before he could finally decide whether he should do so or whether it meant overstepping a boundary, a car entered the compound.

“Your taxi is here,” Shelagh said, slowly getting up from the steps.

Patrick got up, too, and turned towards Shelagh. “Get some rest. I am certain you can skip the first slot in the morning,” he said while gently brushing her right upper arm with his left hand. Shelagh sighed.

“I am afraid not. I have been looking forward for Professor Stern’s lecture for months. She will be talking about the latest findings on nutrition recommendations in resource-poor settings and I don’t want to miss it. She’ll be on at 8 am, so I have to get up again in” she looked at her watch, “three hours. Three and a half if I skip breakfast.”

Patrick opened his mouth as if he wanted so say something. Then he remembered his taxi and did not want to keep her from her well-deserved sleep any longer. Thus he extended his right hand and said good night. Shelagh replied with a warm smile, turned and slowly walked through the door.

Patrick looked after her for a few moments, watching her small figure retreat into the house. He wondered how her body might look below her usual clothing of a loose fit blouse and cotton trousers. He was slightly appalled at himself when he realized what he was thinking. She deserved his respect, and instead, he thought of her in what were most inappropriate thoughts. But he could not help picturing her in something more tight fit or with less fabric altogether.

Then he shook off his thoughts and went to the taxi. He only had a few meetings over coffee the next day, and would be able to lie in a little longer than Shelagh.


	5. Don't you want me?

The next day, Patrick had scheduled several meetings with donors and potential research partners. His first meeting in the morning was with a new PhD researcher from Durham University, who would be staying under his supervision for six months.

After having talked for a while, Patrick suggested they grab an early lunch before the main crowd would get in. The two men had just entered the food area when Patrick spotted Shelagh at a table at the other side of the room. He went over to her, his new colleague in tow.

When she spotted him approaching her table, Shelagh said: “Greetings, Dr Turner,” curiously looking at his companion.

“Good morning, Shelagh. I was just talking about you and your heroic deed last night,” Patrick beamed. Shelagh blushed and bit her lips.

“This is Shelagh Mannion, the most accomplished midwife you will find in this part of the world,” Patrick told Tom who extended his hand to Shelagh, who smiled slightly embarrassed. “May I introduce you to Tom Hereward,” Patrick said. “Tom is a PhD researcher who will be working with me for the next six months.”

“Hello Tom, nice to meet you,” Shelagh smiled at the young man. She watched him from below, thinking he was rather handsome, almost a slightly younger version of Dr Turner with warm brown eyes and dark hair – although unlike Dr Turner’s always somewhat dishevelled hair, Tom’s was neatly cut and combed.

Shelagh tore her eyes away from Tom and looked at Patrick, saying: “I had no idea that you were receiving another researcher? You did not mention a word.”

Now it was Patrick’s turn to look embarrassed. “Well, yes, to be honest, I completely forgot about it. I only remembered last night when I read Tom’s message asking me where to meet me this morning.”

Shelagh smiled at Tom. “Well, I take it Dr Turner told you about last night? Rather exciting.”

“How is Mrs. Carter?” Patrick asked, “Do you happen to have any news?”

“In fact I just received a text from Trixie. She looked in at Mave this morning and they are all well. Mave feels quite sore, but her sister has come around and helps with the babies.”

Patrick smiled and nervously fidgeted with his fingers, not certain whether to invite himself to sit down. Just then, Shelagh said: “Would you like to sit down? I’d appreciate some company.” Both men happily agreed, went to fetch their lunch and returned to Shelagh’s table.

“So Tom, what is your research interest?” Shelagh asked the younger man.

He smiled at her and explained: “I am interested in potential synergies between traditional and modern medicine in the context of maternal health. That is, I am mainly interested in questions of spiritual support and how the two spheres might be combined to improve maternal care.”

“Oh, this is interesting”, Shelagh said. “Has Dr Turner already talked about Nonnatus Mission’s work?”

“Yes, he has,” Tom replied. “He told me quite a lot. And I have been following your work as well. I find your last year’s article for the _New England Journal of Medicine_ on maternal health care very interesting. In fact, I was thinking of discussing some opportunities of working together with you, so it’s wonderful to meet you today already,” Tom remarked excitedly.

“Yes, we have been working together with traditional healers and birth attendants in the area a lot and we have established quite a good rapport, I daresay,” Shelagh stated. “You should come to our office and we can provide you with some of our findings and contacts. In fact, some of the outreach visits I have planned over the next weeks might provide you with some insights. If you give me your number, I can let you know about the schedule – that is, if you like?”

Tom nodded eagerly. “Yes, yes, I would like this very much.” Shelagh and he entered a lively discussion about the role of traditional birth attendants and Patrick suddenly felt like an onlooker. He closely watched Tom. He was slightly older than the usual PhD students, probably in his late twenties. He was handsome with soft features, a warm smile, and his dark hair was short and carefully combed sideways.

Shelagh laughed at something he had said and gestured with her hands while explaining something else. Patrick watched her and felt his throat tighten. He found himself intriguingly attracted to her and it troubled him that she was laughing and acting all relaxed around this young man when she generally was rather shy and reserved in professional settings.

“What is your opinion on this, Dr Turner?” he suddenly heard Shelagh ask.

“I am sorry, I was absent for a minute,” he stammered. “What was your question?”

“I suggested that Tom should come to our clinic if you agree. I do not want to interfere with your plans for him, and before anything else, he should get settled, but you might want to bring him on one of your days?”

“Oh yes, this sounds like a good idea,” Patrick responded meekly, not entirely certain he really thought so.

To his annoyance, he had to leave. He was about to run late for an important meeting with a research coordinator from DFID who wanted to discuss some final details of the TB research programme. Thus, Patrick excused himself and left the two talking, angry at himself for the growing jealousy tightening his throat.

It was already past 5 pm when his rather tiresome meeting was over. Patrick walked out of the conference centre and lit a cigarette. He felt exhausted but he had managed to explain all details of his programme still in question and the research coordinator had promised to send the grant contract within one week.  

Patrick briefly considered calling Shelagh; he had already taken out his mobile phone and scrolled to her number – but then stopped. He had no reason calling her. They were colleagues from different organizations who happened to attend the same conference. She would certainly wonder why he was calling her after they had already spent so much time together during the past days. Patrick thought about checking in on Mave Carter, but remembered that she would be cared for by Shelagh and Trixie, two excellent midwives.

Patrick put his phone back into his pocket and lit another cigarette, when Jack Tenant approached him. Patrick had first met Jack in 1994 when he had worked with Doctors Without Borders in Rwanda. They had briefly met during breakfast that morning as they were staying at the same hotel.

Now, Jack invited Patrick to join him for a few drinks at the hotel bar. Initially, Patrick hesitated but then he considered his alternative; having dinner alone and retreating for an early night. Being painfully aware of his conflicting thoughts about Shelagh lately, he would probably not be able to find any sleep soon, hence he accepted Jack’s invitation and got into a taxi with him.

He would have a few drinks, get not an early, but not a very late night either and then be off home to Moshi the next morning, trying to leave his feelings back in Kenya.


	6. Heroes

One week later, Shelagh arrived at the still rather new building at KCMC campus where the weekly family planning class for young mothers took place.

The building housed the offices of several Western aid organizations including Dr Turner’s. Fred, who had driven Shelagh, helped her to carry the two large boxes with teaching materials into one of the seminar rooms on the ground floor. Shelagh thanked him and they agreed that Shelagh would call him once she was done to pick her up.

Shelagh did not like to travel with a driver, but it was the mission’s policy. Staff had to travel with a driver for security reasons at all times. In all the years she had been working for the mission, Shelagh had never gotten used to certain rules, although she accepted them. She did not like to be singled out – and travelling with a large Land Rover and a driver were just that to her – but these were the rules and they were a means to the end of improving the lives of many people living in poor conditions.

Shelagh had arrived well in time as always and routinely set up the room for her workshop. Cynthia had picked the right day to let Shelagh step in for her as today’s topic was the prevention of sexually transmitted diseases, and Shelagh, even though she had no personal experience of the matter, never tired of teaching the importance of _ABC_ – abstain, be faithful, or use condoms.

When she had first come to Nonnatus Mission, Shelagh had been responsible for a programme supporting local women’s groups to build their capacities for spreading awareness of HIV and AIDS. She soon had set her focus on mothers and babies, and especially young mothers who were particularly vulnerable to being infected with sexually transmitted diseases.

Shelagh did not judge any of the women. She had soon learned to understand the conditions many poor women lived in. They hardly had any chances, often lacked education and, especially when they had one or more children, struggled to earn an income to sustain themselves and their children. They were like mothers anywhere in the world; all they wanted was the best for their children.

At twenty to three, the first girls arrived. Shelagh greeted them in fluent Swahili and patiently waited until three sharp to begin with her class.

When she first had begun facilitating workshops, she had been incredibly self-conscious. Not just because her Swahili had been rather poor in the beginning, but also because she did not like to be the focus of attention. But with time, she had gotten used to her task and even begun to like it.

Also, because she had found out that she was able to establish a rapport especially with young girls and women who likely could relate to her because of her young age. Still, she often felt slightly uncomfortable being a white teacher for a group of black people. Thus, a few years ago she had begun to train Tanzanian midwives interested in joining her. In her daily outreach programme, she worked together with her favourite colleague Patience who by now had also become a friend outside of work. Jane, too, had become a good friend, although she was in many ways the opposite of the outgoing, straightforward Patience.

Shelagh began the class by introducing herself and explaining why Cynthia was not here today. Then she facilitated a few role-plays with the girls which were among her favourite teaching methods. She loved how enthusiastically everyone took part in the short plays, and how everyone dared to open up to discuss even sensitive matters regarding sexuality and girls’ roles in society in the setting she had created.

About half an hour into the class, they heard shouting in the hallway. Shelagh excused herself and peeked through the door to see what was going on. Outside, Dr Turner and his son were standing opposite each other, the father shouting angrily at the son. Dr Turner was just going to say something when he noticed Shelagh.

“What is the matter?” she asked concernedly.

Dr Turner grabbed his son by his arm, presenting a nasty-looking cut to Shelagh. “The school sent him here. Can’t they deal with it on campus? They do have a nurse for cases like this,” he bellowed.

Shelagh looked at Timothy who was on the verge of crying. She instantly felt sorry for the young boy. Dr Turner held his mobile phone in his hand and shouted: “I am in the middle of a meeting, I can’t possibly have this now.” For a second she thought he was going to throw his phone against the wall, seething with rage.

Shelagh frowned and extended her arm to Timothy. “Here, let me have a look at it,” she said in an attempt to calm the mood between father and son. She gently took the boy’s his arm with both of her hands and examined the wound. “What happened to your arm, Timothy?” she asked.

“We were spinning around at play time,” the boy sobbed.

“This needs some cleaning and a bandage,” Shelagh stated. Then she turned her head, addressing Dr Turner: “I have a first aid kit with me, I can take it from here.”

Dr Turner seemed to relax instantly. “Will you be alright with Shelagh?” he asked his son. Timothy nodded, a sheepish expression on his face. “Thank you, Shelagh, you don’t – “

Shelagh interrupted him. “It is really no problem, Dr Turner. You go back to your meeting and Timothy can sit with us. I will take him upstairs when we’re done.”

Patrick smiled at her relieved: “Thank you, Shelagh. I cannot possibly skip this meeting now, I am sorry.”

Shelagh nodded and indicated Timothy to follow her. They entered the seminar room and Shelagh announced a five-minute break during which she carefully cleaned and bandaged Timothy’s wound.

Then she produced a banana and a granola bar, which she had carried in case she might run late. “Here, you look as if you could do with something to eat,” she told the boy affectionately. “If you want, you can listen to our class. You can also sit over there in the corner and begin with your homework if you like. I could help you with anything you need help in once the class has finished.”

Timothy smiled at her thankfully and retreated to a vacant table near the door. Shelagh called the young women who had gathered in the middle of the room and were chatting lively back to their seats and continued her class.

When they were done with the session, Shelagh began to gather her materials. Timothy came up to her and said: “Thank you, Shelagh, you are really cool. I am glad you were there to calm down Dad.”

Shelagh felt the urge of hugging the boy but was not sure how he might react. Instead, she said: “Oh, I don’t think it was that bad. He was just in the middle of something and I noticed that he sometimes does not handle it well when he has multiple things to do at once.”

“He is always in the middle of something,” Timothy complained. Shelagh sighed. She had been through this too, as a child. After her mother had died, her father had worked so much that she had hardly seen him. Still, in hindsight, she realized how much her father had loved her and how he must have struggled to balance his work and the care for a young daughter.

“I am sorry, Timothy,” she said, “but he loves you very much. He just has too much to do sometimes.” Timothy frowned and Shelagh knew she did not have the means to placate the boy right now.

“Well then, why don’t I take you upstairs and we’ll see whether your father has finished his meeting.”

“Seriously,” Timothy went on. “He is a doctor and could have taken care of me. But he rather goes to some meeting than spending time with me.”

Shelagh felt her heart break again. “I am so sorry, Timothy. And I know I cannot change things right now. But perhaps it helps you to know that your father does a very, very good job at everything he does. And since he is the leader of his programme he is needed during those meetings, he needs to make important decisions.”

“But I need him, too,” the boy shouted angrily. “I never get to see him.”

“Now, let’s see where we can find him right now, all right?” she said when they were approaching Dr Turner’s office.

Shelagh knocked on the door and was surprised to hear his voice call “enter,” in response. She had expected him to forget about Timothy and allow himself to be held up, but there he was, at his desk, hair mussed, shirt wrinkled but wearing a grin, albeit with his forehead showing wrinkles of sorrow.

He held his arms open for his son. “Timothy, I am so sorry. I should not have shouted at you. I called the school and they apologized. Apparently the nurse is on sick-leave today and because I work at the hospital, they brought you over here.”

Timothy hesitated for a moment but then smiled wearily at his father, went to him and embraced him tightly. Shelagh felt relieved seeing them hug and said: “Well then, I leave you two here.”

She turned around and was already half way through the door, when Patrick shouted: “Wait!” Shelagh turned again and looked at him.

“I… umm… we… I am going to go home with Timothy. Would you… erm, could I drop you off on the way?”

Shelagh blushed. “I… well, why not. I would have to call Fred to pick me up, so I might as well go with you.”

Patrick smiled a big smile. “Wonderful. Now, let me pack my things and we’re off. Do you have got anything we need to take along?” he asked Shelagh.

She nodded. “Yes, two boxes downstairs.”

When Dr Turner was done, the three walked downstairs. Patrick and Shelagh carried the boxes to his car and everyone got in. Shelagh smiled when he started the car and apologized while turning the music down.  

“No need to apologize,” she said. “I am always in for David Bowie.”

“You are? I love it, but Timothy does not approve,” Patrick chuckled, eyeing his son’s disgusted face in the rear mirror.

“But Tim,” Shelagh said, turning around to face the boy, “this song is a classic. _I, I will be queen. And you, you will be king_ ,” she sang for him, chuckling while altering the lyrics as to fit their genders.

Timothy wrinkled his nose and Patrick laughed at his two passengers. “Tim detests my taste in music and I am afraid even you won’t convince him otherwise.”

Shelagh laughed and said: “I am sorry, Tim, I was just teasing.”

The boy still looked annoyed but Patrick smiled pleased. She certainly knew how to handle his son.

When Patrick reached the exit of KCMC compound, Timothy said: “Dad, can we have some ice cream at that small garden restaurant down the road?”

Patrick checked his watch: “Well, I don’t see why not. It’s still a while until dinner time, so you won’t spoil your appetite.” Then he looked at Shelagh and said: “That is if Shelagh does not have any other appointments? I am sorry, I should have asked you first, but would you like to have ice cream with us?”

Shelagh blushed again. She was already nervous sitting next to Dr Turner in his car, even though she could not understand why exactly. She felt her heart rate increase thinking about spending some time with the doctor and his dear son in private and immediately felt a pang of guilt nagging at her. Technically, this was still her work time and she was not supposed to spend it at some café. But, well, wasn’t Dr Turner a colleague?

She smiled shyly and replied: “Yes, I’d like to.”

Patrick grinned. “Well then, it’s decided.”


	7. I Should Be So Lucky

# 

After only a few hundred meters drive they arrived at Mount Kilimanjaro View Lodge, a restaurant with a beautiful garden with blooming jacarandas and banana plants and a full view of Mount Kilimanjaro. About half of the tables were taken with customers being a mixture of what looked like local businesspeople and hospital staff.

Patrick led them to a table in the rear area, next to a few blossoming poinsettia plants. Immediately, the waitress, apparently not too busy on this afternoon, arrived to take their order. Timothy ordered ice cream, Patrick coffee and Shelagh a fresh mango juice. Patrick raised his eyebrows at her order. “Juice? No coffee?”

Shelagh smiled. “I feel like having something sweet today,” she said with a grin.

Patrick chuckled. “Sweet drink for a sweet lady,” he said and, when her face changed colour, realizing what he had said exactly, his expression changed to embarrassed. “I am sorry”, he muttered. “I don’t know why I said that.”

Shelagh also smiled embarrassedly and bit her lips. She looked at the stem of the palm tree behind their table, not sure where to put her eyes. Luckily, Timothy came to the rescue. “Dad, Shelagh did really well with my arm. It did not hurt a bit. Not like Nurse Taylor at school.”

Patrick smiled. “I am sure she did. She always knows what she is doing.”

Shelagh blushed again and the conversation halted until the waitress brought their drinks and Timothy’s ice cream. Shelagh exchanged a few sentences in Swahili with her while the boy tucked in immediately. The waitress left and Shelagh chuckled at the sight of Timothy: “I suppose they must have very good ice cream here,” She exchanged an amused glance with Dr Turner and both fell silent for a while, sipping their drinks.

“Have you ever been up there?” he asked after a while, nodding his head towards the summit of Mount Kilimanjaro.

“No, never. I like going hiking in the highlands but I am not so much for climbing to the top, I think.” Shelagh remarked. “Have you?”

“No, not yet. But Timothy wants us to go,” Patrick said, “and I promised him that we will go one day, before we leave.”

Shelagh raised her eyebrows: “Are you planning to leave?” she asked, sounding more alert than she intended.

“No, no, no plans,” Patrick quickly replied. “My contract technically ends in June next year but we already agreed to extend it. I have a meeting in Durham just before Christmas, during which we will agree on the details. But I suppose we will be here for another two to three years.”

Shelagh smiled but did not say anything. Did she feel relieved hearing he would stay? If so, why, she pondered.

“What about you?” Patrick asked. “I think we arrived here about the same time?”

“Yes, in 2006. No, I don’t have any plans either. I like being here. I mean, one day, I think I will leave again, but not… well.” She paused.

Patrick looked at her and when she did not continue to speak he said: “Did you want to say anything?”

“Well, I was just going to say that I … well, when I came here I did so with the intention of joining the order of St. Raymond Nonnatus. My father and Sister Julienne suggested I should consider this for a while until I make a final decision. Now, during the past months I have been thinking that it is about time to make this decision.”

“You mean you want to become a nun?” Timothy exclaimed.

“Timothy, behave yourself,” Patrick scolded, a bit more harsh than he intended; irritated about the shock her announcement had caused him. He continued, addressing Shelagh: “Well, this is a rather … important decision, I would think.”

Shelagh smiled a small smile. “Yes, it is. But I feel it is time to make up my mind one way or another.”

Both adults took several sips from their drinks and tried to avoid each other’s eyes. Timothy finished his ice cream and asked: “Can I have a Fanta? And I need to go to the toilet.”

“Go inside and order something,” Patrick said half-heartedly, still processing Shelagh’s announcement. He noticed her checking her watch and asked: “Are we delaying you?”

“No, you are not”, she replied appeasingly, “but would you mind terribly if we left within the next half hour or so? It is getting a little late and I have to arrange some things for tomorrow’s outreach visit.”

“Of course,” Patrick replied quickly and indicated to the waiter he wanted the bill.

“Where are you going tomorrow?” he then asked Shelagh.

“We are scheduled to visit a few Maasai villages near Lake Nyumba ya Mungu. I will be going with Jane.”

“Have I already been there with you?” Patrick asked, embarrassed that he could not remember where Shelagh had taken him already.

“Why – would you like to come?” Shelagh asked, sincerely offering. “I would not mind. Although I already offered Tom to come, to get an impression of the rural areas around here.”

Patrick was about to accept the invitation when he remembered that he could not. “Ah, damn. I would like to, but I have a meeting with the Dean of KCMC Research Institute. I have been waiting to meet this guy for weeks, I can’t possibly reschedule.” He cursed internally and felt a pang of jealousy inside his stomach. Why would she invite Tom, he wondered.

As if she had read his mind, Shelagh added: “I hope it is alright that I offered. I know Tom only started a few days ago but since he is interested in traditional medicine, I thought he might meet some focal people from the communities to work with him. It always helps when new people are introduced properly.”

Patrick smiled at her. She truly was an angel. Even though it was not her task to care about Tom’s progress in his work, she offered to help just because she was a genuinely friendly person.

The waitress arrived and placed the cheque on the table. When Shelagh reached out to her bag, Patrick raised one hand. “Please, Shelagh, you are our guest. You were so very kind to Timothy today.”

She smiled at him. “Thank you, Doc.” He smiled at her using the short form.

While he paid, the waitress and Shelagh again exchanged a few sentences. Patrick noticed how Shelagh’s expression suddenly changed from happy to embarrassed. She said something to the waitress, who then left, raising her eyebrows at Shelagh.

“What did you two talk about?” he asked curiously.

“Well, it’s a bit embarrassing really,” Shelagh laughed nervously.

Patrick looked at her with raised eyebrows. “Now I want to know,” he said.

“She asked me whether it was going well with my _mzee_ , my old man. I told her that we are just colleagues and she said she would have sworn you were my husband from the way you look –“ she cleared her throat, “at me.”

Patrick swallowed hard. He felt his cheeks getting a little warm. Luckily, Timothy had returned in the meantime, sipping on a bottle of Fanta.

“Well then”, Patrick exclaimed and hastily jumped up from his chair. “Let’s get going.” The three left the restaurant garden and got into Patrick’s car.

Inside, Shelagh in an attempt to ease his self-consciousness addressed Patrick: “Did I ever tell you that I find it remarkable that you are driving such a modest car? It does set you apart from most other expats in your position.”

Patrick raised his eyebrows. He drove a ten-year old and somewhat battered Toyota Hilux Pickup he had bought from his predecessor, not a fancy Land Cruiser or another more comfortable four-wheel-drive.

“I don’t really care about cars. They need to take you safely from A to B and I like that you can pack quite some stuff on the cargo area of this one.”

They drove on in silence until they arrived at Nonnatus Mission. When they car stopped, Fred and Omari came running to help unload the boxes Shelagh had brought.

“Ah, Dr T.,” Fred greeted the doctor.

“Nice to see you,” Patrick greeted Fred.

Fred had been with Nonnatus Mission for fifteen years. Before, he had been in the British Army for more than twenty years. After his discharge, he wanted to do something useful and thus had joined the logistics team at Nonnatus Mission Headquarters in London. Eight years ago he felt he needed a change of scenery, and had transferred to Tanzania.

Fred began chatting with Patrick about the advantages of a car like his which never seemed to break down, much to Patrick’s dismay. While the two were talking, Shelagh nodded a quick good-bye and went inside the main house. Patrick hoped she might come out again, but when she didn’t, he wished Fred a good evening and returned to his car where Timothy was already waiting impatiently.

“Dad, why are you always taking so long?” he complained. “You could just have dropped off Shelagh. This is the only day of this week you are off work early and I still don’t get to spend time with you.” Patrick sighed absent-mindedly while they left the compound. He wished he could have continued talking to Shelagh.


	8. Message In A Bottle

Meanwhile, Shelagh watched father and son drive off. She was inside the equipment room and in the process of checking the boxes and other materials they needed for the mobile clinic the next morning. She knew that they were complete. She had made sure that a rigid protocol regarding the immediate re-stocking of the boxes as soon as anyone using them returned from their field visits was in place. Still, she felt better to double-check just in case. She hated the thought of arriving at a clinic site and miss an important instrument or medicine.

Shelagh sighed. She had enjoyed herself very much while spending some time with the Turners, even though the conversation had sometimes made her self-conscious. Thinking of Dr. Turner in his wrinkled shirt and his very tousled hair this afternoon caused a tingle in her stomach she had never felt before. She wondered why she felt so elated. After all, the doctor and she had already spent many hours in each other’s presence, either during long project meetings or during various Nonnatus Mission clincs where he volunteered without her thinking about him at all afterwards.

Shelagh closely inspected her face in the small mirror above the sink and wondered why she was suddenly thinking of her colleague in a different way. She had never felt like this before and did not quite understand what made her feel the way she did.

She had just turned thirty-one. Looking at her eyes, she noticed that a few lines were beginning to form. Her hair, a light brown by nature, showed lots of golden streaks, bleached from the many days living under the tropical sun. There were quite a few freckles on her nose. Otherwise, her fair skin was not as tanned as that of many other people living at the Mission; she was either red from sunburn or pale as a sheet.

Was she beautiful? She had never considered herself as such. She had come to the realization that she was rather invisible. When she had been a teenager, and later, during her nurse’s training, she had never been among those girls boys were particularly interested. But she herself, too, had never been interested in boys. “You will meet the right one, eventually”, her friends had said teasingly, but she had never really missed someone in her life.

This was also part of her plan to join the order. Her aim in life was not to find a man or have a family. Rather, she wanted to serve poor people and their communities and to dedicate herself to God. It had been her aim for years. She sighed. It was time to make an appointment with Sister Julienne and talk to her about the process of becoming a postulant, she thought. That would help her straighten her thoughts and finally find her way out of the fog of confusion that surrounded her ever more tightly.

Meanwhile, Patrick and Timothy had arrived at their house. Patrick had lit the stove to heat up the food their housekeeper had prepared for them while Timothy had stomped off to his room.

Patrick put two plates, two glasses and cutlery on the dining table and went to the bathroom to quickly wash a little and change into a fresh shirt. He stood in front of his sink, face wet and stripped off his shirt, he bent forward to take a closer look at his face. He examined his eyes, surrounded by ever more wrinkles, as well as new shadows beneath. His whole face had gotten somewhat craggy in the many years since he had arrived here. The tropical sun paired with his personal worries had done their job, he thought.

He looked down on his abdomen and found that while his figure was still lean overall, he did have a little belly growing. He should really stop eating fried food, he thought.

Patrick wondered what Shelagh might think of him only to feel embarrassed to even think of her this way. He would probably be too old for her anyways. He was going on fifty and she was not much older than thirty, he estimated. No wonder she would rather develop an interest in Tom. His handsome young colleague was certainly a few years younger than Shelagh and came with considerably less baggage than himself.

But after what she had told him this afternoon, she would probably not develop an interest in anyone save God. Patrick breathed in deeply. She thought of joining the order. His mind still could not process this. Why would a beautiful and talented young woman like her want to hide herself behind the rigid rules of a religious life?

Just then he heard his son shout: “Dad, something is burning, I can smell it in my room.” Patrick rolled his eyes and cried: “Damn bloody idiot!” at his image in the mirror. He sprinted to the kitchen, seized the smoking pan from the stove and threw it into the sink. “Hells bells,” he cursed.

“Did you have to burn our food again?” Timothy, who had come up behind his father, asked. Patrick turned around and looked at his son enraged.

“Tim, this does not help!” he shouted.

Timothy ducked his head and rolled his eyes. He had learned best not take it to the edge with his father. He preferred to retreat to his room where he would wait for his father to calm down.

Meanwhile, Patrick had taken a bottle of Tusker out of the fridge. He had made it a habit to not drink on weekdays, but right now, he felt he needed a cold beer to calm him down.

When he had half-emptied the bottle, he put it down and went to his son’s room. “Tim,” he called when he entered, “I am sorry, I was just in the bathroom for two minutes and did not pay attention to the food. Now, how about I drive down to Roberto’s and get two pizzas for us? We could have dinner while watching a film, how does that sound?”

“Ok, Dad,” Timothy replied, not overly enthusiastic. His father kept burning their food, even when he only had to warm it up. Then he usually tried to make it up by getting some take out food to eat while watching a film. Not that Timothy did mind, but it was nothing special anymore since it happened regularly at least once a week. Timothy thought just once in a while he would prefer them to sit down at the dining table and have a decent home-cooked meal like other families did.

Three hours later, Timothy was sound asleep and Patrick sat outside on his patio overlooking the small garden. He smoked a cigarette and sipped on a glass of whisky. After having had a beer already, he thought he needn’t worry about his rule regarding no alcohol on weekdays.

The garden had been Marianne’s realm and she had been proud of the many flowers and blooming bushes she had planted. Since her death, it looked a little wild. Patrick did not see the need to pay a gardener. Instead, he paid the watchman some extra money to keep the lawn short and water the plants during dry season.

Patrick loved sitting on the porch in the dark, listening to the sounds of the Tanzanian night. The cicadas chirping, leaves rustling in the light breeze, faint voices from neighbouring gardens and patios, the voices from the night watchman’s radio. He came out every evening after Timothy was asleep, smoked a few cigarettes and let his thoughts wander. There was nothing better to help him unwind after his long days. Before her death, he and Marianne had sat out here together, and talked about their day and anything they wanted to discuss with each other.

Recently, he noticed how his thoughts kept wandering to Shelagh. While it partly excited him, it was mainly painful because of his nagging feeling that he would never have her. He thought about her beautiful smile and her slender figure and felt a longing like he had not felt in a very long time.

In the months after Marianne had died, he used to imagine conversations with her when he sat on the small rattan sofa outside. Since that conference in Arusha he noticed that he had begun to envision talking to Shelagh. Not only did they have long imaginary conversations. He also pictured her being curled up next to him, his arm around her shoulder, so intensely that he could feel her warmth against his side and smell her hair close to his face.

Patrick felt miserable. After what Shelagh had told him today, there was no chance she would ever want to have any kind of relationship with him. Not if she considered joining the order. Technically, Nonnatus Mission workplace policy already forbade her to have a relationship with him - and she would certainly be too proper to break any of these rules, he supposed. And she would do so even less if she considered becoming a nun. But had she not blushed repeatedly when they were together? Had she not looked at him differently than some weeks ago? More affectionately, more intense?

Patrick sighed. He felt like a complete fool. Then he heard the jingle of the BBC news from some radio in the neighbourhood and he was annoyed when he noticed that is was already midnight. As he had left his office early today, he had taken home at least two hours of work which he needed to complete before next morning.

With an extended groan he got up and stubbed out his cigarette, trying to remember how many he had already smoked that day (too many, he was certain), and went inside. It would be another short night for him.


	9. Take My Breath Away

The next morning, right after breakfast, Shelagh knocked on Sister Julienne’s office door. She knew the older woman did not have any appointments this morning and would very likely be able to spare half an hour to discuss with Shelagh the process for her to join the order. Or, at least, to counsel her so that she might find the peace of mind she was used to having, Shelagh thought.

“Enter,” Shelagh heard from inside and stepped into her superior’s office. Sister Julienne sat at her desk, taking notes on some charts and smiled upon seeing Shelagh. “Shelagh, please have a seat. What can I do for you?”

“I, wondered, Sister, if I might speak with you… about something which is becoming a concern to me,” Shelagh began but was interrupted by the phone ringing.

“I am sorry,” Sister Julienne said and answered her phone. Shelagh watched the older woman’s face change to an expression of concern. “Yes, I see. No, there is no need for it, I will come and see her immediately.”

Shelagh looked at Sister Julienne with questioning eyes.

“Sister Evangelina,” Sister Julienne explained. “This was her dentist’s surgery. She had an appointment this morning and apparently she fainted during the treatment. Her heart, probably. Again. They have rushed her to KCMC with an ambulance. I will go there right away.”

“What can I do to help, Sister?” Shelagh asked while both women stood up from their chairs.

“Change nothing. Go nowhere. Carry on exactly as you are. I really don’t think I can do without you.”

Shelagh opened her mouth but no sound came out. She watched Sister Julienne stride out of her office and sat down again on her chair, so perplexed she was not able to move. Could this be another sign? Should she not talk to Sister Julienne about what was on her mind? Would joining the order not be what He wanted from her?

Shelagh removed her glasses and put them down on the edge of Sister Julienne’s desk in front of her. Then she buried her face in her hands and tried to assess what was going on inside her.

Sister Julienne needed her just as she was, she had been clear. With Sister Evangelina’s health deteriorating and the recent departure of nurse Chummy Noakes after getting married, staff was always a critical issue at the Mission. Unusual for the Mission’s policy, Sister Julienne had involved Shelagh with administrative procedures early on. She had explained that although Sister Evangelina was second in rank and therefore technically supposed to act as Sister Julienne’s deputy, it was not her forte to complete paperwork.

Sister Evangelina was a hands-on person and had been grateful when she and Sister Julienne had discovered how efficient and reliable Shelagh was when it came to administrative procedures and organisation of the office. Hence, Shelagh had gradually become almost a right hand to Sister Julienne.

Even though they never had discussed this, Shelagh was certain that once she joined the order, she would be the natural choice for succeeding Sister Julienne. A prospect filling her with anticipation and even a little pride in herself.

But now this was not the time to think about her still uncertain future, Shelagh scolded herself silently. She should pray for Sister Evangelina and begin with her own work for the day. Speaking to Sister Julienne had to wait.

One week later, Shelagh again taught the family planning class at KCMC. When class was over and everything packed, Shelagh went upstairs to Dr Turner’s office. He had called Sister Julienne the day before, offering the Mission the opportunity to pick any item they might need from the old TB lab. Under the new grant, the lab would receive a substantial amount of new, more modern equipment and Dr. Turner was aware of the Mission’s rather dated utensils.

Shelagh found Dr. Turner sitting at his desk, a cigarette in his mouth and a coffee mug in his left hand, brooding over a pile of papers. His door stood half-open and Shelagh quietly knocked against the door frame. Patrick looked up and beamed when he recognized her. “Shelagh,” he exclaimed, “what a surprise. Sister Julienne said Cynthia would drop in after today’s class.”

“Yes, she was supposed to but she is ill today and I stepped in,” Shelagh said.

“Come, have a seat,” Patrick invited her. “Do you want some coffee? Or tea? Anything else?” Shelagh declined his offer of a drink but sat down at the visitor’s chair in front of his desk.

“So tell me what exactly we are going to do. Sister Julienne said that you offered to donate some equipment to us?”

“Yes. Since we will get a completely new equipped TB lab soon, we have a lot of stuff from the old lab we don’t need anymore. Technically, by our partnership contract with KCMC we are bound to transfer any item we do not need any longer to the hospital. But since they also have received several grants for medical and lab equipment recently, they aren’t in as great a need as Nonnatus Mission, I think. So I thought we might just go through the lab, you tell me what you want and we will send it over once our new equipment has arrived.”

Shelagh smiled slightly embarrassed. “Well, this is very generous of you. To be honest, we manage perfectly well in spite of the clinics’ limitations. In fact we take pride in it,” she said firmly. After a short pause, she added: “But we are grateful about any item you can spare.”

Ten minutes later, Shelagh and Patrick entered the door to the TB lab. Shelagh shyly looked around, awkwardly twisting her hands. She felt like a thief, even though they were here at Dr. Turner’s suggestion.

Patrick offered to make a list of the items while going through the equipment, but Shelagh hardly dared to make any suggestions. Patrick watched her peeking around, apparently too shy to ask for items. After a while he said: “If you can’t tell me what you want, tell me what you need.”

Shelagh looked at him with her lower lip caught between her teeth. “Well, the solar chill would be nice,” Shelagh began slowly. “We could transport vaccinations out in the field more safely. At present we have to use those camping coolers which never cool enough.”

“See”, Patrick, leaning casually against the worktop next to her, smiled encouragingly, “You can do this.”

Shelagh lifted some clean test tubes out of their stand and weighed them in her hand. “Test tubes like these would be nice, too. The ones we have are made of very thin glass,” she said hesitantly, looking up from the tubes she was still holding on to.

“They must break so easily,” Patrick said quietly, looking into her eyes. Their eyes locked and suddenly time seemed to stand still.

Then they heard someone shout “Dr. Turner!” and when a breathless Tom entered the lab, Shelagh and Patrick each took a step back, almost jumping.

“Tom!” Patrick exclaimed, trying to regain his composure. “What is the matter?”

“I am sorry, Dr. Turner. The Dean of KCMC Medical School is at your office and needs to see you in some urgent matter.”

Patrick sighed. “I am sorry,” he said to Shelagh. “I have to go. If he comes to me in person, it must truly be urgent indeed.”

Shelagh nodded in understanding. “I can come back another time,” she said.

“Oh, well, perhaps Tom can stay with you?” Patrick suggested and looked at Tom who smiled pleased. Patrick handed Tom the list on which he had begun to write the items Shelagh wanted to have for Nonnatus Mission. “He’ll have to pack them for you anyway,” Patrick added, winking at Tom, and hurried towards the door.

“Hello, Tom”, Shelagh said, smiling warmly at the young man. “Now, let’s get on then.”


	10. Don't Leave Me This Way

“Shelagh, Shelagh”, Timothy shouted from afar. Shelagh, who had just gotten herself a bottle of water, turned around. She stood at the table where cake and cold beverages were available and for the first time on this busy afternoon was able to take a short break and have a drink.

It was the annual summer fete of Nonnatus Mission, to which all employees and partners and their families were invited as a means of thanking them for their support. Timothy ran towards Shelagh and, when he stopped in front of her, breathed heavily. “The three-legged race is about to start and I can’t find Dad anywhere. Would you run with me?”

Shelagh smiled at the boy. She had always had a soft spot for Timothy. Since his mother had died, he had to accompany his father more often than before and she had formed almost a friendship with the child.

“Of course I will,” she announced. “Let me just have some more water, I haven’t had anything to drink all day.” She quickly drained her water and went with the boy towards the start line.

Shelagh had been so busy helping Bee with preparing food that she had not had any time to mix with the visitors. She only had spotted Dr. Turner from a distance once or twice all afternoon.

Secretly, she was happy to run the race as a favour to Timothy. Shy as she was, she would not have put her name down by herself, but if she was coaxed into activities like this, she happily agreed.

Timothy and Shelagh took their position, impatiently waiting for the signal. Meanwhile, Patrick had returned to the garden of the mission from inside the main house where he had been on the phone with one of his lab technicians. There had been a power cut at the hospital – which per se was nothing unusual; they had power cuts almost daily. But this time, the emergency power at one of his labs had failed and a freezer containing samples for an HIV vaccination study had set off an alarm.

Luckily, the technician could fix the issue last minute and Patrick had been able to track down Delia Busby, the doctor overseeing the study, who was now on her way to the lab to check on the issue in person.

Patrick noticed people lining up for what seemed the three-legged race. He sighed; he had promised Timothy to run with him and hurried to look for his son. When he arrived at the start, he saw Timothy and Shelagh already running and leading the field. He ran next to them behind the spectators and cheered them on. He happily shouted “Yes!” when they crossed the finish line as winners, only to topple over and find themselves on the ground.

Patrick hurried to congratulate them. “We won!” Shelagh exclaimed happily, beaming at Timothy who was already trying to get up, almost causing Shelagh to topple over again.

“Timothy, stand still!” Patrick scolded and extended his hands to untie the band that held his son and Shelagh together. Seeing Shelagh twitch at his movement, he froze and watched her slender fingers quickly untie the knot.

Timothy jumped up and ran off towards some other boys he knew from school. Patrick noticed that Shelagh’s glasses had fallen down and handed them to her while both got up from their kneeling positions. When Shelagh reached out for her glasses, Patrick remarked:  “You have hurt your hand.”

Shelagh looked at her left palm where a cut near the wrist was bleeding, sending a few drops into the gravel that had broken her skin.

“I am sure there is no need to amputate,” she replied curtly. Then she turned and hurried inside the main house. Patrick felt numb. Why would she run from him? What if it was not just a cut, but a more serious injury? He decided he should follow and check on her. She might need his assistance, he told himself, ignoring the fact that as a nurse she was perfectly capable of caring for her cut herself.

Patrick found her inside the equipment room, where she stood by the sink, cleaning her wound under the running water.

“Do you want me to have a look at that?” he asked gently and noticed her wince almost invisibly when she heard his voice. But she turned and held out her hand towards him.

“Yes,” she exhaled.

Patrick slowly approached her and took her injured left hand, cool and wet but surprisingly soft, into his left hand. With his right hand he began to slowly caress her wrist, just above the cut. He felt his whole body tense and suddenly, all what mattered was that he was here with her, holding her hand in his, admiring her delicate wrist and the intricate pattern of blue veins shining through her pale skin.

He had never been as close to her as right now and it felt so very intimate to hold the hand she had given to him. Patrick could not help it. He very slowly raised her hand to his mouth and placed the softest kiss on her wrist. Her skin felt warm and he felt her pulse on his lips. She faintly smelled of ginger, washing detergent and something he could not quite name, but it made him dizzy.

His lips had hardly touched her skin when Shelagh snatched away her hand and turned away from him. Patrick gasped. What had he done. “I am sorry,” he muttered. “This was unforgivable.”

“Who is it who decides what is forgivable and unforgivable,” she said, her voice shaking.

Patrick felt like a rock hit him right into the stomach. He had grossly abused her trust; he had forced himself on her. He was devastated. He stood still, his hands clutched together above his heart, the place where he held her so dearly.

“I did not turn my back on you because of you,” she continued, her voice still weak. “I –“ she paused. Patrick waited for her to continue but she just stood there, not moving and not saying a word.

He opened his mouth to apologize again, but no sound would come out. Any word he could think of sounded wrong and he was so appalled at himself that the only action he could think of was to leave. He turned around and almost fled the room.

Patrick hurried outside and went to look for Timothy who was playing soccer with a few boys his age. “Timothy, we have to leave, can you come, please?” he shouted.

Timothy came running to his father, his expression angry. “But Dad, we only just started to play and I –“

Patrick interrupted. “No argument, Tim, we are going.”

Timothy grumbled angrily and followed his father to their car. Patrick did not even bother to thank the mission staff for the invitation or say goodbye like he normally did. All he could think of was leaving the place and clearing his head somewhere else.

The drive home took only fifteen minutes during which Timothy did not stop complaining. “You said we would stay until dinner and have barbecue there. And I did not even get to pick up my medal. There is an award ceremony just before dinner and Shelagh and I are supposed to go there.”

Patrick remained silent. He cursed at himself internally. Not only had he ruined whatever he had even faintly hoped to develop between himself and Shelagh; would they even be able to work together anymore? What’s more, he had also let down his son. Again. He was such a failure.

When they arrived at their house, Timothy went straight into his room and turned on his small stereo rather loudly. Just before, he had announced he did not want to see his father again that day.

Patrick went to the kitchen, took out a beer from the fridge and quickly drained it.

When he put down the empty bottle at the worktop, he felt even worse than before. Not only had he disappointed the two people he cared most about in his life. Also, this was the second time in a short while that he had to have a beer to wash drown his anger. And he used to make a point of saying that alcohol did not solve problems.

“You stupid bloody idiot,” he muttered to himself. Then he went to the bathroom and splashed a few handfuls of cold water into his face. He took several deep breaths and decided that before he could think of anything else, he needed to make amends with his son.

Patrick returned to the kitchen and rummaged through the freezer until he found two steaks. Then he took out a container of ready-made potato salad and a cucumber out of the fridge. After Marianne had died, he had needed quite some time to learn how to do their shopping. Thanks to Teresa who had provided him with meticulously compiled shopping lists and Timothy, who went along with him to the supermarket, Patrick had eventually learned to keep their fridge and freezer well stocked.

He went outside and fired the grill. Then he went inside again, took a bottle of Fanta from the fridge, opened it and went to Timothy’s room. He knocked the door and when he did not get an invitation to enter, he slowly opened it.

“Tim,” he said gently. “I am sorry. I know you are angry at me and you have all good reasons. I acted like an idiot.” Patrick held out the soda bottle. “Here, I brought you something. Little peace offering. And I started the grill. We can have our own barbecue tonight.”

Timothy grimaced but lowered the volume of his stereo. “This is a lame substitute,” he complained as he took the bottle from his father. After a pause, Timothy asked: “What ever was the matter with you?”

Patrick bit his lips and hesitated. He could not tell the truth to his son – that he was in love with Shelagh, that he had kissed her out of some selfish reaction and that he most likely had ruined whatever relationship there had been between them.

Instead, he said: “I sort of got into an argument with Shelagh. Nothing bad, but I am afraid I made quite a fool of myself.”

Timothy looked at his father intently. “Don’t you keep telling me to not run away from problems? Why didn’t you apologize to her then instead of making us go home early?”

Patrick shrugged. Why was his ten-year-old son more mature than him? “I don’t know. I do feel bad about it though. You see, just because I am an adult does not mean that I am beyond mistakes.” He sighed.

“I like Shelagh. It was cool that she ran the three-legged race with me. And I think she likes us, too. You should go and apologize to her, Dad,” Timothy reasoned.

“I will, son, I will,” Patrick replied. “But now we should check the grill. Time to put on those steaks, I’d say.”


	11. Can't Fight This Feeling

After Patrick had left, Shelagh remained in the equipment room for a long while, unable to move, unable to process what had just happened. She had been conflicted about her feelings for Dr Turner for quite some time now, but she was unable to understand what had happened just now and why he might have acted as he did.

They were colleagues, and they respected each other. She was not permitted to have any romantic involvement whatsoever with him as per workplace policy. And she did not want to, did she? She was seriously considering joining the order, how could she even think about having _relations_ with him, or any man at all?

She liked Dr Turner, perhaps more than one might like someone who was just a colleague. Could she call him a friend, perhaps? She was very fond of his endearing son, yes. But why did she not feel relieved that he had gone? Would she have preferred him to stay? What if she had not turned away from him? What might have happened then between them, she wondered.

Suddenly, she felt nauseous and a headache began to spread between her temples. She slowly went outside, making her way towards her room at the Nurses’ Quarter. On her way, she bumped into Tom.

“Shelagh, there you are,” the young man exclaimed. When he noticed her troubled expression he asked worriedly: “What is the matter, are you not feeling well?”

Shelagh smiled a forced smile and raised her injured hand a little. “Don’t worry, Tom, I just fell and cut my hand, but nothing a bandage couldn’t cure.” Tom extended his hand to take hers into his but Shelagh pulled her hand back almost violently. “Thank you, Tom, but I will be fine.”

She left him standing and quickly walked to her room. Inside, it was cool and dim because she had left the curtains closed this morning. Shelagh fell down on her bed. She still felt nauseous and her head was spinning. Through the open windows she could faintly hear the sounds of the fete.

Only after over half an hour of laying still and simply focusing on the sounds from outside she began to calm down. She suddenly noticed the cut in her palm throbbing and remembered she had not yet covered it. When she got up from her bed, she noticed a blood stain on her blouse where her hand had rested. She sighed and went to retrieve a bandage from the top drawer of her chest of drawers before. Then she covered her cut before changing into a clean blouse.

When she drew back a curtain she noticed that dusk was progressing rapidly. It must be around 6.pm already. Shelagh usually liked this time of the day, it was normally the time when everyone began to rest after a full day’s work. And it meant the beginning of the quiet evenings with soft breezes and all the smells of Moshi nights she loved so much.

Today, she dreaded the evening and she suddenly felt the need to be in company rather than being left alone with her thoughts. So she quickly checked her face in the mirror, brushed over her tousled hair a few times and went outside again.

In the hallway she ran into Trixie.

“Oh there you are,” Trixie exclaimed. “I came to check on you. Tom said you hurt yourself. What happened?”

“Oh nothing, really,” Shelagh soothed her. “I just fell and scratched my hand.” She lifted her left hand. “I put a bandage on it and took a short break inside.”

“Wonderful. So come on outside then, I haven’t seen you all day, let’s eat dinner together, shall we?” Shelagh nodded and the two women went towards the barbecue.

Two hours later, all guests had left and the Nonnatuns were almost done with cleaning and tidying up from the fete. Most dishes and some other minor tasks would be done by daylight the next day, but the compound almost looked as it did on a regular day, clear of the many plastic chairs and tables, banners and festoons.

Shelagh walked out of the main house and pouted her lips. While she had carried some chairs her wound had split open again and she felt her palm throbbing. She felt tired and decided she should go to bed, perhaps reading a bit before falling asleep. When she had almost arrived at the entrance of the Nurses’ Quarters, she stopped at a bench on the lawn nearby.

She liked to sit here during the evenings, just outside of the lights thrown into the night from her house. She enjoyed the solitude and loved listening to the sounds of the night. No matter how hard her day had been, whenever she sat on this bench, she felt like she was in exactly the right place.

When she sat down on the bench, she was longing for this feeling of peace to come, but instead, Dr Turner’s face, worried about her injury, but also tender with affection, appeared in front of her inner eye. Why had he followed her? And why could she not just forget about him? Shelagh felt tears well up inside her but then heard footsteps approaching and swallowed hard to suppress them.

She initially assumed it was one of the nurses and was surprised to recognize Tom’s silhouette. When he came nearer, she called out his name.

“Shelagh?” he replied and discovered her in the half-light. He walked over to her and nodded towards the bench: “May I?” he asked.

Shelagh smiled encouragingly and Tom sat down next to her. “I came to see you,” he explained. “I am sorry, if it is not decent; I should have left a while ago, probably, but I got into a theological dispute with Sister Julienne. We even missed out on dinner.”

“A theological dispute? Oh, I am sorry,” Shelagh said. “I hope you resolved it. Are you hungry? I am sure we could find you some bread and eggs inside,” she offered but Tom declined.

“Thank you. Sister Julienne already provided me with some dinner. I think she felt sorry for having kept me,” he chuckled. “But I enjoyed it, to be honest. She is a fantastic opponent.”

“What was your dispute about?” she asked.

“Oh, it was about the use of contraception and the role of traditional vs. modern means of contraception.”

“Oh dear,” Shelagh sighed, knowing Sister Juliennes firm stand regarding this matter. Even though Sister Julienne permitted their programmes teaching about birth control, she was personally against it. It was only the reality of high teenage pregnancy rates and the HIV epidemic that had her grit her teeth and allow her staff to hold contrary opinions.

“I wanted to check whether you are all right? I was worried when I saw you this afternoon. You looked terribly upset.”

Shelagh smiled at him. “Thank you, Tom. It was probably the running around all day without making sure I had sufficient liquid intake,” she tried to calm him. “But my hand is fine. I am fine,” she reassured him.

Tom looked at her with an expression she cold not quite interpret. “If you say so, I am relieved. I was worried, to be honest.” Shelagh smiled and they sat together in silence for a while.

Tom moved a little closer but left a small space between them. “You are a wonderful person,” he said suddenly, intently watching his shoes. Shelagh stiffened. What was he saying now?

“Tom, - ” Shelagh began but he interrupted her.

“No, Shelagh, let me say this. You have been so generous and helpful and very much eased my start here. I know there are policies in place … and I won’t say anything more. But I wanted you to know that I consider you one of the most wonderful people I have met in a long time.”

Tom got up, smiled at her and after a short moment turned around and slowly walked back into the direction of the main house.

Shelagh felt her head spin again. What had he just said? Did he mean he wanted them to be more than what they were now? But she was different. Not like Trixie who had her occasional crush or her former colleague Chummy Noakes who had gotten married and certainly would start a family soon. No, she lived for her work and used to joke she was married to it. But why would two men approach her the same day, indicating they considered her not just a colleague anymore?

She thought of Tom affectionately. He was so soft-spoken and gentle. He would probably never act as Dr Turner had done today. He would not shock her to her core, forcing her to face feelings she was not certain she was ready to have.

Shelagh suddenly felt the chill of the night creep up her legs. She got up from her bench and decided to prepare herself a cup of tea before retreating for the night.


	12. There Is A Light

“Shelagh, would you mind waiting for a moment?” Sister Julienne asked when the Nonnatuns had finished breakfast and got up to begin with their tasks for the day.

“No Sister, what is the matter?” Shelagh looked at her superior.

“I want to ask a favour of you. As you know we have been alarmed by the rising number of TB cases here in the region?”

“Yes, of course,” Shelagh raised her eyebrows in question. “This was the main reason behind the TB programme Dr Turner and I worked on together.”

Sister Julienne nodded and continued: “Dr Turner asked yesterday whether we could support him in getting the Regional Health Officer’s permission to organise the TB mass screenings among the mining communities. Apparently they are hesitant to give their permission. Dr Turner asked whether I might join him and explain how Nonnatus Mission’s experience in outreach will provide treatment and care to those affected, and not only use them as objects for research.”

Shelagh looked slightly puzzled. What was she supposed to do with this information, she wondered.

“Anyway, he has an appointment at the Regional Health Office in Arusha at noon,” Sister Julienne explained, ”I offered to go with him but I have just received an email which requires me to take part in an urgent Skype call with the mother house about next year’s budget. I was wondering whether you might accompany Dr Turner? You are even better suited for this task than I am; you developed the proposal with Dr Turner.”

Shelagh smiled meekly. She had not seen Dr Turner since the fete, ten days ago, and the thought of him made her breath hitch. “Of course, Sister”, she said, painfully aware that she would never decline what was asked of her from her superior.

Two hours later, Shelagh heard a car enter the compound and slowly got up from the bench outside the main building where she had been waiting for Dr Turner. It was going on ten, the crisp cool morning air slowly giving way to the dry and dusty heat of the day.

Shelagh carefully put her scarf around her shoulders to warm herself in his car, anticipating him having turned on the air condition. Then she took her bag and slowly walked towards the car.

“Shelagh,” Dr Turner gasped through the open window when he noticed her approaching his car.

“Dr Turner,” she greeted him curtly.

“I …was expecting Sister Julienne,” he stuttered while quickly getting out and walking around the car to open the door for her.

“Sister Julienne has another urgent appointment. I am covering for her,” she replied.

“I see,” he continued. “I’m sorry I am a little late. I couldn’t find a decent tie.”

“That tie seems perfectly… appropriate”, she said slowly. She wondered why he was talking about ties among all things. He hardly ever wore ties, but today’s meeting was an official one, and an important one, too.

Without the consent of the Regional Health Officer, Dr Turner would not be able to implement his new programme. They had had already gotten the consent while they had been developing the proposal, but after a staff rotation, a new Regional Health Officer had just taken the post and apparently was reluctant to sign the documents Dr Turner needed to begin with his programme.

Dr Turner was looking at Shelagh intently and warmly said: “I appreciate your support today.”

“I am here as a favour to Sister Julienne, that is all”, she replied matter-of-factly and got into the car.

As usual, Patrick had forgotten to turn down the volume of his car CD player and the music hit them fairly loud when he started the ignition. The Smiths’ _There Is A Light That Never Goes Out_ had been the last song playing on some mixtape CD he had put in last night and Morrissey sang “ _and if a ten-tonne truck kills the both of us_ ” before Patrick managed to switch off the music.

“Well, speaking of appropriateness,” Shelagh said barely audible.

Patrick blushed and made a mental note to remember to switch off whatever he was listening to next time before he picked up a passenger. “I am sorry,” he mumbled. “I hope you don’t feel offended by my choice of music.”

Shelagh pressed her lips together before saying curtly: “Considering that traffic accidents, particularly those involving poorly maintained trucks, are a main cause of death in Tanzania, I don’t think this is a very fitting song while driving over here.”

Patrick swallowed. Was there any chance this day might get worse?

They spent the one-hour drive almost in complete silence, only occasionally commenting on some particularly old and dangerously looking vehicle, often prone to deadly traffic accidents on Tanzanian streets.

The pair arrived at the Regional Health Office in good time but then had to wait almost one hour until the meeting began. Patrick and Shelagh sat in silence in the waiting area, awkwardly glancing at each other when they thought the other would not look.

When they finally were asked inside, the Regional Health Officer seemed not in favour of allowing the mass screenings at the mining sites at first. He explained that he was tired of the many researchers approaching him for permissions to carry out studies and screenings without ever providing his office with the outcome of their research.

Shelagh had observed that local authorities were slowly becoming more alert to the many aid and research programmes undertaken by Western agencies and individuals in the country. Many came here and did whatever fit their own agenda without ever questioning whether it really helped local communities. Researchers gathered lots of data, but hardly ever did local communities appear to benefit from the outcomes.

Now they sat with the new Regional Health Officer, apparently highly critical of their endeavour and Shelagh noticed Dr Turners forehead crease with worry and anger. She felt a wave of affection for him rise inside her and swallowed hard before speaking up.

She tried to put all her persuasive power into her argument, explaining how everyone who tested positive and their families were entitled to TB treatment under the programme supervised by Dr Turner. Moreover, it meant that no additional costs would be placed on the communities or the Regional Authorities – who would, nevertheless, receive regular updates with the latest data and findings of the programme.

Then she underlined how the detection of the disease and the free treatment would benefit the mining operations and thus the economic welfare of the whole region. This was when they had finally convinced the Officer to sign the papers Dr Turner needed to officially launch the programme.

Dr Turner strode out of the Officer’s door with quick steps almost as far as the main entrance of the building. Shelagh hurried after him until he turned around and beamed at her. She felt her stomach flip and exclaimed joyfully: “You were really quite tremendous, doctor.”

“So were you, Shelagh,” he replied warmly.

They looked at each other and Shelagh suddenly felt an urge to embrace him to let out the energy caused by the adrenaline still rushing through her veins. But rather than giving in to her urge, she quickly hurried past Dr Turner, outside and towards his car.

He came up after her and said: “Now, before we go home, I think we both deserve a bite to eat. It’s already past lunch time. I know a nice coffee place not far from here. A bit of a tourist spot, but they have good coffee and sandwiches. What do you think?”

Shelagh smiled and nodded. She suddenly felt light-headed and happy, gone was the tension of this morning.

At the coffee shop, they placed their order and sat in silence for a while. Suddenly, both began speaking at the same time.

“I am sorry, you go ahead,” Patrick said.

Shelagh smiled. “No, it is all right, you begin,” she chuckled.

“All right. So, about the other day, I’m awfully sorry. I don’t know how I can ever make amends, but I want you to know that I am sorry for my inappropriate behaviour.”

Shelagh looked at him and swallowed. This was not what she had expected. She felt uneasy with him being uncomfortable. At the same time his affectionate way of looking at her caused her to feel a tingle in her stomach.

“It is all right, Dr Turner,” Shelagh said slowly. “I… I… no, it is all right. And thank you for your apology.”

“I think you should call me Patrick,” he said. “I mean we do make quite a good team and Dr Turner sounds so… formal.”

“Patrick,” Shelagh smiled shyly. Then they looked at each other for a while, neither sure what to say, until their order arrived a few minutes later. Both drank a few sips of their coffee and almost finished their sandwiches before speaking again.

“So now that we were successful, I am afraid you have added quite a bit to your workload”, Shelagh remarked.

“Yes, I am afraid so,” Patrick chuckled. “But only in the short run, I hope. The go-ahead means that I can now hire a coordinator for the TB programme. Once the new coordinator has arrived, I will be able to fully focus on the maternal health research programme and delegate anything else.”

Shelagh smiled. She always liked him best when his eyes glistened with his passion for work.

“So are you going on holiday with Timothy?” Shelagh asked in an attempt to prolong their being together over lunch for another moment.

“Yes, Tim and I are going on a camping safari to Lake Manyara for a few days. But he is going to spend the most part of his holidays back home in London. With the new programme to be launched and all the other tasks I cannot really go on a long holiday right now.” Patrick paused and took in a deep breath before he carried on, speaking a bit slower: “My mother-in-law arrived a few days ago and she is going to take him with her to London. I will go out for a few days in three weeks time to get him back here again.”

“I imagine logistics are quite difficult as a single parent,” Shelagh said.

“You name it. I think we found a way, Tim and I, but it is not easy. And we are lucky to have some school friends where he can stay overnight now and then. And my mother-in-law, God bless her, has been a real help since… well, since Timothy’s mother died.”

After that, neither spoke for a long while, Shelagh and Patrick only smiled at each other, each at loss for another, less sad, topic for their conversation.

Eventually, Patrick asked for the cheque and after he had paid, the pair walked outside towards his car. Just before he opened the passenger door for Shelagh, Patrick said: “I like the colouring of your scarf. It matches your eyes.”

Shelagh blushed. He had never before commented on her appearance and it made her self-conscious. She generally did not use much energy thinking about her clothes, she just wore what she found practical in the Northern Tanzanian climate and appropriate for local tastes. But she did indeed like her scarf. She had bought it a year ago on a holiday to Zanzibar because she, too, had liked how the different shades of blue matched the blue of her eyes.

Shelagh quickly climbed into the car and Patrick went to do the same. After he had started the car and motioned it on the street, he suggested: “If you want, we could turn on the music. You can choose this time. Perhaps something more… appropriate?”

Shelagh grinned at him lopsidedly and opened the hatch. A few CDs fell out and she exclaimed: “Oh, I am sorry,” only to be calmed by Patrick.

“Never mind. It is my fault. I shoved them inside this morning in an attempt to tidy up the car a little.”

Shelagh smiled and lifted the CDs from the floor. She flipped through them and said: “I see, you’re firmly grounded in the 80s?”

Patrick nodded. “Yes, and I am proud to admit it. Tim thinks it is horribly embarrassing. But I love that music. The 80s was my decade, somehow. I qualified, did a lot of travelling. Met Tim’s mother, ….” His voice trailed off.

“Oh,” Shelagh said. “So you were, -. Well, never mind,” she stopped herself.

“No, go on, please,” Patrick encouraged her.

“I am sorry, I should not be prying. You said that you met Timothy’s mother in the 1980s, but he was born when? In 2001?”

“Yes,” Patrick explained. “We met about the time I graduated from university, in 1984. Marianne was already working as a magazine journalist. She travelled a lot. And I worked a lot, too. Sometimes we would not see each other for a whole month. At first we literally didn’t have any time for even thinking about a child. And then, -” Patrick paused and smiled a weary smile. “Well, we split up in the early nineties and only got back together a few years later.”

Shelagh looked at him in surprise. She had never questioned the Turner’s happiness. While she still pondered whether he considered it rude of her to ask about the details, Dr Turner carried on: “Yes, we were separated for almost four years. When we got back together in 1997 we got married within four weeks. We just knew then.”

Shelagh smiled. “Glad you did. We wouldn’t have Timothy otherwise.”

Patrick chuckled. “Oh yes, I cannot imagine my life without him. As difficult as it can be at times.” He paused again before adding: “We weren’t entirely certain that we wanted to have children. Well, at least Marianne wasn’t. It was only after her father died, in 1999 that she seriously began talking about having children.”

Shelagh made a humming sound. “My father was 40 when I was born,” she said. “My parents had gotten married in their thirties and I was a much-awaited gift, so they told me. And it took them several years to have me.”

Patrick quickly glanced over to her before focusing on the street again. “After Tim was born, we soon tried for another child but it never happened. Marianne blamed herself for waiting too long. She was over 40 already, but there could have been so many reasons.”

“It does not…,” Shelagh began but halted.

“What? What did you want to say?” Patrick asked.

“No, I think it would mean overstepping,” Shelagh said hesitantly.

“No, please, don’t worry. I can handle it.”

“Well, I was going to say that it,… it does not need to, umm, be the woman’s fault,” she almost whispered, turning crimson red. “No offense intended,” she added, voice still quiet.

Patrick laughed, enchanted by her boldness paired with insecurity. “None taken. You are certainly right. We’ll never know what the reason was. And I am happy that Timothy has turned out such a great lad, even though I certainly fail quite often as a parent.”

“Don’t say this,” Shelagh said, voice still weak. “You do what you can and if not now, in hindsight, Timothy will appreciate it. Take it from someone who has been there.”

Patrick sighed. As much as he loved talking with her, he did not want to spoil his good mood by thinking about his concerns over his son. “Thank you, Shelagh. This means a lot, coming from you.” He paused and then said: “Didn’t you want to chose some music?” reassuringly brushing her thigh with his left hand, not wanting her to feel shunned off.

“Alright,” Shelagh said, glad that he had given her an opportunity to maneuver away from the rather delicate topic they had arrived at.

She chose a CD from the pile she still held in her lap, put it into the CD slot and put the others carefully back in the glove compartment.

“Ah, Sting, you cannot make a mistake with him,” Patrick commented upon listening the first beats of “Fields of Gold.”

“I just love that song,” Shelagh said dreamily.

“Well, nice that we two can agree on the music,” Patrick commented. “Aren’t you a bit young, though, to listen to this kind of music? Although it sheds a lot of positive light on you, I’d say,” he chuckled. “What was it you used to listen to?”

Shelagh chuckled. “When I was a teenager I had a good friend, Duncan. He was a few years older than me and lived next door. He introduced me to all kinds of music from the 70s and 80s. I may not have developed my taste any further than this once I moved to London in 1998.”

“Oh, Duncan, I see,” Patrick said with a wicked undertone.

“If you want to know, he is happily living with his boyfriend of 15 years now,” she replied curtly and Patrick grinned, amused about her annoyed reaction.

They drove on in silence, and Shelagh hummed along to the tune. Patrick smiled and when the song was over he said: “You have a beautiful voice.”

Shelagh blushed again and smiled shyly. “Thank you,” she almost whispered.

They fell silent again, but unlike the tense silence on their drive in the morning, this time both felt content in each other’s presence.

When they arrived at Nonnatus Mission, it was almost six o’clock. Patrick wanted to leave immediately but Shelagh asked him to come inside to tell Sister Julienne about their success.

As expected, Sister Julienne was glad to hear about it and invited Patrick to stay for dinner. He declined, explaining that he needed to get home to his son. He said good-bye and walked to his car. Shelagh accompanied him, feeling strangely unable to just let him leave.

When they arrived at his car, Patrick turned towards Shelagh and looked at her affectionately: “Thank you for your support, Shelagh. Without you I would not have succeeded, I am certain,” he said quietly.

Shelagh smiled. “Oh I don’t think so. You did very well. He may have needed his time, but he would have come around eventually, I am certain.”

Patrick opened his mouth as if to say something but didn’t. Instead, the pair stood in silence for a while, looking at each other before Patrick nodded towards Shelagh and muttered he better get going or Timothy might report him as missing.

Shelagh watched his car disappear and remained in her spot for a while, even after the watchman had already closed the gate. She felt confused. Why was it that her mood had turned from one extreme to another today? This morning, she had dreaded to even see him and now she felt almost sad that he had to leave.

Shelagh was startled out of her brooding by a door shutting loudly. She turned around and slowly walked towards the main house. It would be dinner time soon.


	13. I'm Gonna Be (500 Miles)

“So how did you like it today?” Shelagh asked Tom who had joined her on an outreach visit to two villages near the small town of Kifaru while on the drive back to Nonnatus Mission. Shelagh had invited him to join her so as to show him her programme. Patrick, too, had encouraged him to join the Nonnatuns every now and then since it would help him to gain a better understanding of the various layers to health policy and practice in Moshi region.

“I loved it”, Tom said, beaming. “This was so very interesting. I can see why Dr Turner is talking about you so much.”

Shelagh blushed. “Well, Nonnatus Mission and he go back a few years.”

“Actually, he talks about you and your work most of the time.” Shelagh felt her cheeks getting even warmer and she quickly turned away from Tom. She looked out of the car window where the first houses of Moshi town appeared; modest rectangular stone buildings with corrugated iron roofs.

Then she took out her notebook and began to write down her field notes until the car stopped at Nonnatus Mission compound. It was almost 6 pm and dusk was already looming.

Alec, the driver, Shelagh, Tom and Jane got out of the car and all four quickly unloaded the mobile clinic equipment. Jane offered to clean the instruments, which Shelagh happily agreed to; she still had to complete a few statistics.

A few minutes later, Tom stood outside the main house, waiting for his taxi to arrive. He lived in another part of town, sharing a house with two other British medical students, who also worked at KCMC. Shelagh was eager to get on with her work but also did not want Tom to have to wait alone, hence she walked up to him.

“Thank you for taking me,” Tom said when he noticed her approaching him. “If you don’t mind, I would like to come along another time. Would this be possible?”

“Of course,” Shelagh said. “Just let me know when your schedule allows it and I’ll take you along.”

Tom smiled and took in a deep breath. “You, erm…” he began and Shelagh smiled at him encouragingly. “You said that you like hiking and that you might show me some routes in the highlands,” he continued carefully. “I was thinking I might go for a hike on Sunday. Would you like to join me? That is if you don’t have other plans.”

Shelagh smiled. He was always so very careful, almost shy, to ask something of her. She recognized herself a few years back in the younger man – even though she would never even have dared to ask a man a question like this outside the professional sphere.

Shelagh briefly pondered his request. She loved the lush landscape of the Kilimanjaro highlands and enjoyed going for day-tours there. She had not done it in a while. Even though she normally felt safe wherever she went in and around Moshi, she followed Nonnatus Mission security policy in that she never went for longer walks or hikes on her own; she always went with at least one second person.

For a while, Trixie and Shelagh had gone hiking regularly. Since Trixie’s old friend Jenny had moved to Moshi, though, Trixie spent most weekends at Jenny’s house.

“Yes, I would like to go,” she finally said. “I haven’t been hiking in quite a while and it would be lovely to go with you,” she added, smiling brightly.

“Splendid,” Tom exclaimed. “Should I call you on Saturday and we arrange everything then?”

Shelagh agreed and at the same moment, the gate opened and Tom’s taxi arrived. Shelagh extended her hand for a farewell, turned around and quickly walked towards her room. It was almost time for dinner and she wanted to clean up before.

On Sunday, Shelagh and Tom met at 7 am at the central bus station to catch a _daladala_ , a minibus, to Machame, located at the slope of Mount Kilimanjaro, known for being the starting point for climbers and hikers. Shelagh and Tom planned to go for a short three or four hour hike in the highlands and return to Moshi by late afternoon.

Shelagh suggested they get off the _daladala_ at a stop just outside of Machame to immediately begin walking. It was a sunny day and it was barely 9 am when the two started hiking along the narrow pathways running through the typical small-scale coffee fields, interspersed with banana plants, larger trees, grass huts and an occasional tethered cow.

“I hope I have not kept you from church this morning,” Tom said. “I only realized last night that you probably do attend service regularly.”

“Never mind. I do actually, but I also join the Sisters’ morning prayers. So skipping church one Sunday won’t hurt anyone,” Shelagh smiled.

“Well I feel bad for skipping it myself,” Tom said. “My father is a vicar and every time I skip service, even just once, I can just hear his voice scolding me.”

“Oh, I see. Is this why you are interested in matters of religion and belief in your research?” Shelagh asked and Tom nodded.

“You know, my father was a missionary,” she explained. “I think I understand you very well.” The two went on comparing their childhoods spent with fathers who were men of the church until, about one hour later, they fell silent again. They walked next to each other, only occasionally pointing out a particularly spectacular view, an interesting plant or an unknown bird species to each other.

Shelagh felt happy. She had missed hiking, she realized, and she liked doing so with Tom. He was so very gentle and funny and made her feel comfortable. Still, she occasionally noticed him glancing at her sideways with an expression she could not quite fathom.

Shelagh pondered whether she should ask him to stay for dinner at Nonnatus Mission after their return to Moshi. Normally, the nurses were not encouraged to have male visitors, but in Tom’s case, Shelagh decided, this might not apply. He was a colleague, and working with Dr Turner, who was considered a good friend of Nonnatus Mission.

What would Patrick Turner think of her and Tom hiking out here, Shelagh suddenly caught herself thinking. Was Patrick someone who went out to hike? They had never talked about it; only that he wanted to climb Mount Kilimanjaro. She realized that even though she knew a lot about his work, she hardly knew anything about Patrick’s private life.

Shelagh shook her head, trying to stop this train of thoughts. Why would she care about what Patrick might think, she wondered. Why was it that she kept thinking about men in the first place? She had never ever seriously considered being with anyone in her life. And now she kept thinking about what a man might think of her walking with another man or whether she should invite one to dinner. She took in a deep breath, noticing how the crisp morning air gave way to the warming day. No more silly thoughts, she resolved and increased her walking speed.

It was almost 6 pm when Shelagh got out of the taxi she and Tom had shared for their return from the bus station. Shelagh felt tired but also elated from her hike, the beautiful weather, the breath-taking landscape and her nice company. She genuinely liked Tom which surprised her since she usually took a long time to warm up to new acquaintances.

She paid the taxi driver and slowly walked to the Nurses’ quarter. It seemed to be empty. Patience and Cynthia usually visited relatives on Sundays and would not be back until later that evening. Trixie, too; she was probably at Jenny’s house. Jenny and her housemates were known for their Saturday night parties. Trixie kept trying to coax Shelagh into joining her for one of the parties but Shelagh declined.

She had never been a party girl and even though she occasionally thought it might be nice to meet new people in this small cosmos of expats and aid workers, she thought that for someone like her, considering to join a religious order, parties like these would hardly be considered appropriate. Moreover, she felt most comfortable in the company of people she knew.

Shelagh had been looking forward to the quiet of her room, but after she had entered it and listened to the silence surrounding her for a while, she felt uncomfortable being all alone. First, she opened her laptop, connected it to her small stereo and put iTunes on shuffle. Then she took off her clothes and wrapped a kanga cloth around her body. She liked using the colourful fabric for a robe like the local women did.

She went to the bathroom and took a long hot shower to soothe her muscles. Her body was not used to hiking for a few hours anymore, she noticed. Shelagh enjoyed the hot water and let out a deep sigh. Maybe she should have asked Tom to stay for dinner after all. She usually was quite content on her own and never minded staying all by herself. But during the past months, she had often found herself not quite enjoying her quiet Sunday evenings the way she used to, even though she could not tell why exactly.

After a few more minutes, Shelagh stepped out of the shower and reached for her towel. She looked down her naked body. She was slim and her skin pale, only her arms had a slight tan below the line of the short sleeves of the blouses and T-Shirts she usually wore.

She had never thought of herself as a woman who would be noticed by a man. She never ever had aroused interest in someone, unlike her friends at high school or her fellow nursing students. Now she saw Tom’s warm brown eyes before her and she wondered whether he would like her this way. Shelagh felt her cheeks turn red by thinking such a thought, quickly dried herself and returned to her room.

When she entered, her eyes fell on a bottle of body lotion Trixie had given her for her last birthday. The only cosmetics Shelagh used regularly were scented soap, shampoo and toothpaste. Most of the products on her shelf in the shared bathroom were given to her by Trixie who said she wanted to make sure Shelagh looked out for her body while it was not too late.

Shelagh smiled when she opened the bottle and took in the faint smell of lemon. She began smoothing the lotion on her body and thought she should do this more often. Perhaps Trixie was right, perhaps she could take care a bit more of her body. But then, there was always so much else to do, and she felt it was a waste of time to spend too much time on vanity.

While she got dressed with a fresh pair of cotton trousers and a long-sleeved cotton blouse, Shelagh’s eyes caught sight of her mobile phone, placed on her nightstand, still connected to its charger. She had forgotten it this morning and had only noticed while already at the bus station.

Shelagh took the phone from the nightstand and noticed six missed calls. Two were from Trixie, probably wanting to invite her over to Jenny’s. Four were from Patrick. Shelagh knit her eyebrows. Why would Patrick Turner call her on a Sunday, and why four times? She groaned. He was often working on weekends and most likely had some silly question. He probably needed some data from her reporting or the names of local contacts he kept failing to remember.

Shelagh sat down on her bed and dialled his number but immediately hung up again. It was almost dinner time and she did not want to disturb his father-son time with Timothy. Then her phone rang and startled her out of her thoughts. It was Patrick. She had apparently not hung up quickly enough. She picked up, breathed in and said: “Good evening, Dr Turner,… Patrick”, her voice suddenly slightly wobbly.

“Shelagh, what is it? You called?” Patrick asked, slightly confused.

Shelagh paused. “Erm, well, actually it was you who called me several times this afternoon. I left my phone at home and came back only now.”

“Well, wait, umm,” Patrick stuttered. Then she heard him call: “Timothy, it’s Shelagh on the phone. Do you want to talk to her?”

Shelagh bit her lips while Patrick explained to her: “I apologize. When you called right now, I was caught up deep in my thoughts. I forgot that Timothy called you earlier today because he wanted to ask you something. Ah, here he is, let me hand over the phone.”

“Hi Shelagh,” she heard the boy, voice trembling with excitement.

“Hello Timothy,” Shelagh greeted warmly. “What is it you called me about?”

“I wanted to ask you whether you want to have dinner with us,” he said.

Shelagh held her breath in surprise.

“Shelagh? Are you there?” she heard Timothy ask.

“Yes, erm, I am sorry, yes, I just…” her voice trailed off. “It is just, this is a bit spontaneous, you know.”

“Oh, I see”, Timothy said, his voice thick with disappointment.

Shelagh felt sorry for the boy. “But then, I don’t have anything else planned”, she slowly continued. “I could probably be some place by seven thirty if I go out now.”

“Yes, that would be great”, Timothy said, excitedly again. “So you will come?”

“Yes, I will,” she laughed. “How come you invite me?” she asked.

“We never got to celebrate our win in the three-legged race. And Dad said that you got into an argument afterwards and that was why we had to leave so early. I think you two should make up again.”

Shelagh laughed. “Thank you, Timothy, this is very considerate of you. Now could I speak to your father to discuss the details?”

“Sure, here he is,” Timothy replied and handed over the phone.

Patrick’s voice sounded reserved, almost shy, when he spoke: “So you two agreed on dinner tonight? I am sorry if he rushed you into something,” he said almost apologetically.

“Oh, no, I don’t mind,” Shelagh said. “How could I deny him his wish – and he is right, we haven’t yet had an opportunity of celebrating our victory. Should I bring anything?”

“Erm, well, we planned on having a little barbecue tonight. Nothing fancy… actually, since you only called back now, we haven’t prepared anything special. We will probably have only some steaks, bread and a few cucumbers and tomatoes.”

“Perfect,” Shelagh smiled. “I’ll be at your place by seven thirty then. I could certainly find a few slices of cake for pudding. See you at seven,” she said and put down her phone.

Shelagh noticed her hands were trembling slightly and her breath was quicker than normal. She remained seated on her bed for a while until she gave herself a start and got up. She walked to her chest of drawers and brushed her hair. She normally wore it in a practical ponytail or pinned up but decided that she would just leave it flow over her shoulders like it was now.

Then she dialled the number of Salim, the taxi driver with whom she usually drove, and asked him to pick her up in half an hour. When he asked her where she wanted to go, Shelagh realized that although she knew in which area of town the Turners lived, she did not know the exact location of their house. She told Salim she would yet have to find out, said goodbye to him and embarrassedly dialled Patrick’s number again.

“Hello, Shelagh?” he responded almost immediately.

“Erm, yes,” she said embarrassedly. “Could you give me the directions to your house? I forgot to ask how to get there.”

“Oh, of course, I should have thought of it,” he apologized and did as she asked.


	14. Because the Night

One hour later, Shelagh walked through the narrow door in the gate leading to the Turner’s house. She was surprised to see a rather small house within what she could see in the dark was quite a large garden. She had always assumed the Turners were living in a big and fancy house as most expats of his position would and thought that this one fit a lot better to the Dr Patrick Turner she had come to know.

Shelagh thanked the watchman who had let her inside and walked towards the front door when she heard Timothy’s and his father’s voices from the back of the house.

She followed the narrow path leading around the house. She remained in the dark for just a short moment to take in father and son firing the grill together, laughing at something. She felt an unfamiliar surge of warmth rushing through her belly. Never before had she seen the two of them acting as relaxed around each other as in this moment and she felt grateful to witness it.

Then she stepped out of the shadow and approached the patio, greeting the two Turners: “Hello, good evening you two. You live in a very nice place.”

“Shelagh!” both father and son exclaimed at the same time. Timothy came running and ushered Shelagh up the few stairs towards his father.

“Welcome to our little paradise. So good to see you, Shelagh,” his father greeted her, extending his hand, holding on to hers for slightly longer than necessary.

After dinner, they cleaned up the table and tidied the kitchen together. Then, Patrick pointed out that it was bedtime for Timothy and the boy insisted that Shelagh tuck him in. Patrick told her: “You don’t have to. I mean, it’s not that I don’t want to keep you here. But I would not want to delay you. You don’t have a curfew at Nonnatus, do you?”

“No, we don’t,” Shelagh laughed, “but you are right in that it is not approved for us to be out too late. But never mind, I will be happy to tuck you in, Timothy.”

The boy cheered and rushed to his room to change into his pyjamas. Shelagh and Patrick stood together in the kitchen. She watched him awkwardly shifting around some of the dishes and desperately tried to think of anything that remotely made sense to say to him but failed.

After a while, Timothy came running in, dressed in his pyjamas, feet bare. “Tim, you can’t possibly have brushed your teeth yet,” Patrick scolded and his son winced.

“Let’s go together,” Shelagh suggested, eager to leave the kitchen and the tension building between her and Patrick.

The two left, Shelagh following Timothy. About half an hour later she returned to the kitchen only to find it empty. She slowly walked over to the living room from which the door to the patio opened. Outside, she spotted Patrick, sitting on a bench overlooking the garden, smoking a cigarette.

When he heard her footsteps approaching, Patrick jumped up. “I am sorry, it normally does not take that long,” he apologized.

“Oh, I don’t mind,” Shelagh assured him. “He had quite a few questions about living with the Sisters and we also discussed indigenous insects. Not that I am an expert in this area,” she chuckled.

Patrick pointed towards the bench he had sat on. “Do you have some time left? Would you join me for a moment and perhaps another drink?” Shelagh smiled and raised her eyebrows in affirmation. She thought that she should probably head back as it was already getting late but an inner voice previously unheard made her forget about her concern.

Instead she sat down and Patrick asked: “Would you like a glass of wine? It’s nothing special, just some South African stuff they sell at Shoprite. Not that I am an expert but the selection you can get here is fairly manageable.”

“Anything you have is perfect,” she said encouragingly.

Patrick raised his eyebrows and smiled a small smile. Then he went inside and returned with a bottle of wine and two wine glasses. He opened the bottle and poured wine for each before sitting down next to Shelagh.

He took in a deep breath and said: “This is my favourite time of the day. I never particularly liked evenings back home, but here I enjoy the cool air and all the sounds and smells. No matter how awful the day was, sitting outside here for a few moments usually remedies it.”

Shelagh smiled and looked down at her legs. “I feel the same. I, too, like to sit outside in our garden every evening to indulge myself in the Tanzanian night for a while. Clear my head, unwind, enjoy a bit of silence after a busy day.”

They both fell silent for a while until Patrick raised his glass towards her and cheerfully said: “Here’s to the winner of the three-legged race!” Shelagh laughed and also raised her glass. “I am glad you came,” he said quietly. “Timothy was awfully sad when you did not pick up your phone this afternoon.”

“I was out hiking,” Shelagh explained. “Up in Machame. Haven’t done this in a while and it felt great. Although all I feel right now are my sore muscles.”

Patrick opened his mouth as if to say something but remained silent. Shelagh looked at him intently. “Yes?” she asked, wanting to know what it was he held back.

“Oh nothing,” he said quickly. “Just a silly comment. Hardly appropriate.”

Shelagh raised her eyebrows and thought she could see his cheeks flush in the dim light. “Well, I am glad I still made it here, I would have hated to make Timothy sad,” she said, attempting to steer the conversation onto safer terrain.

“I would have been sad, too, to be frank,” Patrick murmured.

Shelagh felt a tingling in her stomach she was not familiar with. Why would he say this, she wondered. She glanced at him and then watched her hands intently while desperately trying to think of an appropriate reply, but failed.

The two sat together in silence, slowly sipping their wine, both self-conscious because of being near to each other but unable to find a way of expressing how they were feeling in this moment to each other.

“You are doing a great job,” Shelagh suddenly said. “With Timothy, I mean. It can’t be easy to do this alone, raising a child. But he is such a sweet boy.”

Patrick looked at her affectionately. “Thank you,” he said. “No, it is not easy and I doubt whether I am truly doing a good job with him. You know,” he continued, “it is difficult if you are on your own all the time.”

“I told you before, from what I see, you are a wonderful father,” Shelagh reassured him. “I was eight when my mother died and in hindsight I see how my father must have struggled. Back then, I didn’t always realize how hard it was on him. But now I know that he did what he could and he was a great father. Timothy will see this, too, I am certain of it.”

“Thank you, Shelagh. Coming from you, that means a lot,” Patrick said quietly.

Shelagh noticed his left hand twitch and wondered whether he had intended to place it on her right knee. Then she took the last sip of wine from her glass. Patrick reached out to the bottle placed next to his feet. He raised it to refill her glass but Shelagh refused while checking her watch.

“Thank you very much. As much as I would like to stay, I think I should go. It’s already past my bedtime,” she said.

When he raised his eyebrows questioningly she explained: “I am an early bird. I usually go to bed by ten o’clock because I am normally up by five in the morning, joining the Sisters in their morning prayers. I find this the perfect start for me. Helps you reflect and focus on what is ahead of you for the day.”

He looked at her admiringly and Shelagh felt her cheeks blush. She quickly bent down, reaching for her bag. “Let me just call my taxi driver –“

“No, let me drive you home, this is safer,” Patrick interrupted.

“Oh, no, I have been driving with him for a couple of years, I completely trust him.”

“No, I insist. We invited you over and I want to make sure you get home safe and sound. I also would have picked you up; idiot that I am I did not remember that you don’t own a car”.

“All right,” Shelagh sighed and got up from the bench. “Will Timothy be all right, though?” she asked concerned.

“I will only be out for half an hour and the watchman is here,” Patrick said.

The pair spent the drive to Nonnatus Mission in silence, occasionally glancing towards each other. When they arrived at the gate, Omari, the watchman, came running and wanted to open the gate. Shelagh indicated that it was not necessary with a movement of her hand and turned to Patrick: “Thank you for the lovely evening. I had a very good time with the two of you.”

“Thank you for coming,” he replied. “I … we had a very good time, too.”

They looked at each other for a long moment, unable to move. Shelagh broke the moment when she said: “I better get inside or else Omari will close the door again.”

Patrick breathed in and raised his hand but then only said: “Good night, Shelagh,” his voice warm with affection.

“Good night, Patrick,” Shelagh said quietly, almost whispering. Then she got out of the car and walked inside the Nonnatus compound without turning around again.

Later, she lay in her bed, unable to sleep. What a day she had had. First she had enjoyed her outing with Tom, not only because she had missed hiking, but also because Tom was such a very nice man and seemed to like her very much. And then she had had dinner with the Turners. She could not rid herself of the image of Dr Turner looking at her with an affectionate smile. During the evening she had caught him doing this repeatedly when he had assumed she was looking elsewhere.

It puzzled Shelagh enormously. Not only did she suddenly find herself feeling confused because of two different men apparently being interested in her beyond the professional realm. Also, she felt irritated that this should shake her to her core so that she was no longer able to sleep or enjoy solitude, two things she had never thought possible.

Patrick, too, had a hard time finding sleep. After returning home, he sat down again on the bench at his patio. He poured himself another glass of wine, lit a cigarette and looked into the darkness. He remembered the moment Shelagh had stepped onto the patio. An angel, were his thoughts. Luckily, Timothy had immediately engrossed her, otherwise he would certainly have made another inappropriate comment about her appearance.

Patrick had never seen her with her hair loose before. She was wearing the blue scarf he had noticed a few times now, the one that brought out the clear blue of her eyes so well. Patrick had found himself dumbfounded for a moment and fumbled about with the grill until he had regained his self-composure.

Replaying this moment in his mind still made him shiver. He had been thinking about her being beautiful for quite some time now but this evening, she had looked so otherworldly, so very gorgeous. He felt his body respond to his thoughts of her and quickly drained his glass. He felt uncomfortable with this reaction, somehow he felt it was spoiling the image of her, she seemed so… pure and it felt wrong to think of her in any sexual way.

But then this was how he felt about her. He wanted her, all of her. He was in love with her, that he knew, but he was not sure she was in love with him. He could tell she liked him as a colleague and perhaps as a friend – but more?

He still felt embarrassed for having forced a kiss onto her and feared he might have spoiled whatever there might have been between them. He had noticed that she was slightly nervous in his presence. Did this mean he made her uncomfortable? Or did she feel just as he did and was as nervous as him to open up about it?

He sighed and lit another cigarette. He was not to know. He probably was too old for her anyhow. She would not want some old doctor with a young son, he thought. “Stop it, bloody idiot, just stop it,” he suddenly shouted at himself and got up. He crushed his half-smoked cigarette in the ashtray, lifted the wine glasses and the bottle and brought them into the kitchen. Patrick decided it was too late to proceed with all this brooding and he should at least try to go to sleep.


	15. I want to know what love is

The next morning, Patrick arrived at his office to find Tom already seated at his desk in the room adjacent to Patrick’s. “Oh, Tom, you are up early?” Patrick remarked. “Had a good weekend?”

“Splendid,” Tom replied. “I was out hiking with Shelagh. She is a true gem.”

Patrick felt as if someone punched his gut. Why hadn’t she told him she had been with Tom?

“Oh, sounds nice,” Patrick mumbled and excused himself. He closed his office door behind him which he hardly ever did, but right now, he needed some time alone. He threw his keys and phone onto his desk and slumped into his office chair. He looked out of the window, at the familiar panorama of Mount Kilimanjaro. She had been there hiking yesterday. With Tom.

Why had she come to his place for dinner then, he wondered. Probably because she wanted to do Timothy a favour. Patrick realized he was jealous. Jealous of his PhD student, and he felt ridiculous. Tom was more than twenty years his junior and this was becoming unbearable.

As in most international aid communities, everyone knew everyone and people kept having flings and sometimes even more serious relationships within the fairly small circle of expats.

The Turners, happily married and with a child, had not been too keen to fully participate in expat party life but through his younger colleagues Patrick was quite well informed about what was going on in Moshi’s aid worker community. Also, his earlier aid missions in the 1980s and 1990s had given him a fair share of experience in that matter. Not that he had been one to sleep around a lot; even after Marianne and he had split up he hadn’t been the type for one-night stands.

Since her arrival four years ago, most of Patrick’s male colleagues had tried to pursue Trixie Franklin at some point. He occasionally overheard them discussing her stunning looks and her party girl qualities – while always adding that other than her appearance might imply she was not one to sleep around with. Patrick secretly chuckled at how Trixie apparently seemed to enjoy playing around but having set her own rather strict rules.

Patrick had never overheard anyone speaking of Shelagh. Now thinking about it he assumed that it probably had to do with her strict work ethic and also her timid, at times rather restrained character. She did not seem like the type of woman looking to having a good time. He himself had only recently discovered a fairly exciting woman behind her usually calm and collected façade.

Patrick began to gnaw on his knuckles. What was he to do? Should he just stand by and watch Tom making another move on Shelagh? He felt shaky and a heavy load pressed on his chest. He would never have characterized himself as the jealous type, and it surprised him how he could now taste the bitterness of it on his tongue, almost causing him to retch.

Then, his phone rang and he winced like he did often ever since he had received the call informing him that Marianne was at the hospital in a critical condition. Now he kept worrying about Timothy and often feared another call.

When he looked at the screen, it said “Sister Julienne” and he answered.

“Dr Turner, good morning,” the Sister greeted him. “I am sorry to bother you this early,” she began, immediately interrupted by Patrick’s “Never mind, Sister, I am already in my office.”

“Oh, yes, well, I might have assumed. Dr Turner, I am calling about the ante-natal clinic. Shelagh told me that Tom was interested in volunteering with us. As I am about to draw up the rota for the next weeks and I don’t have Tom’s number, could you ask him to get back to me? And I suppose since you are his superior he might have to discuss this matter with you anyway.”

“Thank you, Sister,” Patrick replied. “I am sure we will sort this out between us soon and get back to you. I’ll have Tom call you later today.”

After Patrick hung up the phone, he frowned. His first reaction was to not allow Tom to volunteer. He was here to do research under Patrick’s supervision and not to support other organizations.

But then, reason kicked in. Just because he felt hurt because of whatever relationship there was between Tom and Shelagh, he could not let this cloud his professional judgement. He himself regularly made space in his tight schedule for volunteering at Nonnatus clinic, thus he would be in a weak position to not allow Tom to do the same. What’s more, he encouraged all students to support community health projects and thereby get to learn by taking on a grassroots perspective. Finally, it calmed Patrick a little to know that Shelagh hardly worked with the clinic these days because she was too busy with her other duties.

Still, he despised himself for his thoughts. No matter what, he liked and respected Shelagh too much to think such insincere thoughts. If she had developed an interest in Tom, this was her business and he should leave her alone. He sighed again. Then he got up from his desk, and walked over into Tom’s office.

The week passed by quickly, both for Shelagh and Patrick, as each had a myriad of duties to complete. Both had resolved to stay out of each other’s way as much as possible to avoid further complications in their – what was it, both kept asking themselves – relationship?

On Friday morning, while she was typing a donor report, Shelagh received a text message from Tom asking her whether she wanted to do something on the weekend, go for dinner or another hike, perhaps. She held her phone tightly and sighed. After last Sunday’s outings she had vowed herself that she would try and get back to her former life without any distractions. She hated it when she could not focus on her work entirely and she found that thinking about Dr Turner so much and Tom occasionally already occupied too much of her mind.

She could not think of a good excuse and did not want to lie to Tom, but then she remembered that Trixie had mentioned a party at her friend Jenny’s house. Shelagh typed: _“There’s a party at a friend of Trixie’s tomorrow. Don’t know if I will come, but Trixie will.”_

Shelagh frowned. She did not feel like going out. But she resolved to ask Trixie to take Tom along. There would be plenty of young aid workers and other expats, certainly that was where Tom would have fun. And Trixie could be very hard to resist if he was hesitant.

Shelagh’s phone made another sound, announcing Tom’s reply: _“Oh, I see. Well, might check the party out. Have a good weekend.”_

While she still pondered whether to reply or whether another reply would already mean too much, her phone rang. It was Dr Turner. Oh no, she thought, not him, too. She decided not to take the call and have him leave a message. She could not bear to listen to his voice right now.

Shelagh put her phone aside and got back to her report. Once she was done, she would listen to his message, but now she had work to do. Still, her thoughts kept wandering to Dr Turner’s lined face and his warm smile lingering on her and her eyes kept glancing at her phone.

After a few minutes, she smacked her lips angrily and reached out for her phone. She would not find any peace of mind. Dr Turner had left a brief message. The new TB programme was going to run a first test of the mobile TB testing clinic at Mundarara Mine near Arusha. Dr Turner invited her to come along since she had been instrumental in developing the programme together with him.

Shelagh smiled and immediately called him back. Even though it was his programme, she had provided the initial idea and a substantial contribution to its contents. Therefore she was as excited as him to see it finally getting up and running.

“Shelagh,” Patrick exclaimed when he answered his phone. “Did you get my message?”

“Yes, I just heard. Congratulations, this is good news. I had no idea that it would be so soon. I expected the whole approval process to take at least six months.”

“Well, I suppose our appearance at the Regional Health Office was successful then.” After a short pause, he added in a lower voice: “And perhaps it helped that I know some guys working for the mining company through Timothy’s school. I may have let slip a remark or two about the importance of a healthy workforce at no additional costs for the employer.”

Shelagh laughed. “You are playing a mean game, doctor. So when are you planning to go?”

“We will hit the road one week from Tuesday. Believe it or not, the new TB research coordinator will begin her position this coming Monday already. Phyllis Crane, you may have heard of her? She was recommended to me by someone at DFID. She’s British but grew up in Kenya where she is currently visiting family. I talked to her over the phone last Tuesday, she came here for an interview on Wednesday and accepted the position yesterday. And here we are.”

“Patrick, this is wonderful,” Shelagh exclaimed, sincerely happy. “It must feel so good to hand over the programme from the start. I was a little worried how you would manage.”

“Yes, I am immensely relieved. Phyllis seems quite the war horse, but I feel she is reliable and will have things under control in no time,” Patrick replied.

He paused and then said: “Shelagh, I am sorry, I have to go. School closes early today and I promised Timothy an afternoon at the swimming pool. About the TB testing, can I count you in?”

“Yes, I wouldn’t want to miss out,” she exclaimed, still feeling her cheeks burn.

“Great, we can pick you up at Nonnatus House at 6.30 sharp. Will this be all right?”

“Yes, very well,” she replied.

After she had hung up, Shelagh watched her computer screen for quite a long while without actually seeing anything. She was looking forward to accompanying him - and it would be safe to go now that his new colleague would be with them, Shelagh kept convincing herself. What’s more, as she was a nurse, she would be able to render herself useful with lots of tasks during the day, to keep her mind occupied.

Shelagh put down her phone. A glance at her watch told her that she would very likely need all afternoon to finish the report. Gone was the hope of finishing early today, she thought regretfully.


	16. Nothing's gonna stop us now

Ten days later, Tuesday morning at 6.30, Shelagh stood out in the still chilly morning air, waiting for Dr Turner to arrive. She took in the crisp air, cool, smelling of charcoal fires most people here used to prepare their morning _chai_.

Five minutes later, she heard a car in front of the gate. When Bakary, one of the day watchmen got up to open it, she hurried towards him and indicated that it was not necessary.

Outside, Patrick and a stern-looking woman in her early fifties were sitting in Patrick’s car. Patrick got out from the driver’s seat and greeted Shelagh.

“Shelagh, good morning. Glad you could make it. I am sorry, the car is quite packed,” he said, nodding towards the rear bench where several large metal boxes were stacked, as well as in the back of the car.

Shelagh climbed onto the rear bench and tried to move one of the heavy boxes in order to be able to fasten her seat belt.

“Shelagh, this is Phyllis Crane,” Patrick, who had gotten into the car and started it, introduced the women.

“Nice to meet you, Phyllis,” Shelagh greeted her. Phyllis turned around and nodded towards Shelagh. “So is this all of your new equipment?” Shelagh asked, pointing towards the boxes.

“Part of it,” Patrick explained. “But most of it is in the other car. Reggie and Peter, our lab technicians, are already on their way to Mundarara with the Land Rover and the clinic equipment.”

When he noticed Shelagh trying to fasten her seatbelt without success he said: “I am sorry, but we could not fit the equipment otherwise.” He looked at her apologetically and Shelagh smiled at him reassuringly.

 

It was 8.30 when they pulled up in front of the gate of Mundarara Mine. Already parked there was a white Land Rover with the logo of KCMC and the partnership icon of Patrick’s programme painted on the doors. The two lab technicians stood next to the car, talking to each other, each drinking coke from a bottle.

“Ah, Reggie and Peter were faster than us,” Patrick remarked. Everyone got out of the car and Patrick headed towards the gate. When he walked towards the entrance of what looked like the administration of the mine, a middle-aged man wearing suit pants and a blue shirt came outside. He introduced himself as Simon, the site manager.

Patrick quickly discussed the plan for the day and then the mobile clinic was set up under a roof where normally cars would be parked.

Slowly, a few women and children began to arrive at the gate and gathered in the shade of a large tree. “Didn’t you say today was only a test run and for miners only?” Phyllis asked Patrick.

“Yes, that was the plan. Apparently the demand for testing is higher, though,” he remarked somewhat helplessly.

“Well, I don’t think this is a problem,” Shelagh said quickly. “Between the three of us we can organise the testing of anyone interested. If you want, I can take care of women and children and you two see to the miners and other staff.”

Patrick nodded approvingly and they decided to set up two different lines for people wanting to get tested.

Before the actual testing began, the usual procedure of a special occasion was followed. First, it required speeches being given. The manager of the mine began, followed by the spokesman of the workers and finally, Patrick as the representative of the research programme, was also expected to say a few words.

Then, the manager officially announced the start of the programme and that anyone willing to be tested was supposed to queue at one of the two lines.

People first would give their details to be noted on a patient card. Then they had to deliver a spit sample into a small plastic cup which was then tightly closed. Afterwards, a sticker with a code was removed from the patient card and put on the plastic cup which would be collected by the lab technicians.

After their test, each candidate would be provided with a bottle of soda and a few biscuits; both to encourage participation but also as a means of saying thank you for their support in participating in a study.

While going back and forth between the two testing lines and the lab technicians’ places, Patrick repeatedly watched Shelagh quickly organise the miners’ family members. They weren’t too many today, probably twenty-five women and perhaps thirty children. Not every miner had family in the area, many were migrant workers from other parts of Tanzania. But apparently, a few of the local miners had successfully motivated their families to come.

Patrick enjoyed watching Shelagh chat with the women and encouraging the children to take part in the testing. She had a wonderful way with everyone, he thought – no wonder, she was a midwife, after all and had years of experience with maternity programmes. At one point she persuaded a little boy, seemingly afraid of the testing by spitting into a cup herself, thus showing the child that he would not be harmed in the process.

“Dr Turner, if you are done staring, would you mind answering a question or two over here?” Phyllis’ stern voice cut across his thoughts and Patrick turned quickly towards her. He felt his cheeks blush like a teenager and coughed while walking towards her. He wondered whether he had done the right thing in hiring her after all.

 

Almost ten hours later, Patrick’s car entered the compound of Nonnatus Mission again. It was already dark, just past seven o’clock. Shelagh said good-bye to Phyllis and got off the car. Patrick got off, too, and walked around the bonnet.

“Well then,” Shelagh said with a smile. “Thank you for taking me, it was a great day. I am happy to see your programme finally taking off.”

Patrick beamed at her. “Thank you for coming and for your help. You certainly know how to make yourself useful.”

Shelagh blushed and quickly said: “If you excuse me, I have to go inside, dinner has already started.” She smiled at him, then turned around and hurried inside the main building.

Patrick looked after her until she had disappeared into the hallway before slowly returning to his car. “Let me drive you to your hotel,” Patrick said to Phyllis.

 

After dinner, Shelagh went to the Nurses’ Quarters. She put on the kettle and rummaged through one of the cupboards looking for her favourite tea mug when Trixie entered.

“You looked quite happy tonight,” Trixie remarked inquisitively.

Shelagh turned around and raised her eyebrows at her friend. “What do you mean?” she asked.

Trixie smiled. “To be honest, I was a little worried about you. You always seemed so… sad during the past weeks and you mostly kept to yourself. I mean we all have our melancholy sometimes, but you would tell me if there is anything bothering you?”

Shelagh smiled. “Of course, Trixie, I would tell you. I am all right. Just a bit overworked. I think I might need a rest after all.”

“Shelagh!” Trixie exclaimed. “I see. It must be bad if you of all people are thinking about getting a rest.”

Trixie walked over to Shelagh and hugged her tightly. “I love you, my dear. Take care of yourself.”

Shelagh hugged her friend back, making a humming sound. “Yes, I will. Thank you.” After a short pause she asked: “Care for a cup of tea?”

“Yes, that would be lovely,” Trixie exclaimed. “How about we pop a DVD? I bought _The King’s Speech_ from the Rasta guy at the market last weekend and I am dying to watch it.”

Shelagh sighed while pouring the hot water into two cups holding a tea bag each. “No, I can’t tonight. Since I’ve been out all day I have to check my email and catch up a little or I am going to drown tomorrow.

“Oh Shelagh, don’t be a spoilsport,” Trixie teased and smiled encouragingly.

“Sorry, Trix. But how about tomorrow night?”

“Is this a date?” Trixie chuckled. Shelagh grinned and nodded and Trixie left with her tea in hand, blowing Shelagh a kiss.

In her room, Shelagh put down the steaming mug on her desk and opened her laptop. Then she hesitated and took her phone instead. She began typing a message: _“What a day we had,”_ she typed. She could not calm down after the events of the day and felt a previously unknown need to share her excitement with Dr Turner.

But then, when her finger hovered over the “send” button, her courage left her. Why should she send him a private message? Today they had been working together in a purely professional capacity. If she sent this message now, would he not get a wrong impression? What if he misunderstood it? Or ignored it?

Shelagh took her upper lip between her teeth and gnawed on it until it hurt. She should stop thinking about Dr Turner. Why could she not focus on her actual work? She had had a great day, but this was not even her actual work, it was his and she had only been there – why exactly? To support him, yes. To see him being happy about his achievement? Maybe.

Shelagh slowly deleted the message and angrily pressed her phone’s power button. No distractions. She needed to focus on these emails now or else she’d be up half the night.

 

It was almost 8.30 when Patrick entered his house. When he had long days like this, Timothy usually spent the night at his friend Jack’s and Patrick was grateful for it. He felt exhausted and needed some quiet. He went to the kitchen and inspected the cooking pan on the stove. Teresa had prepared a rice dish. He was hungry but did not feel like heating something up. Instead, he took the bag of toast from the worktop and some slices of cheese and ham from the fridge and prepared himself two sandwiches. Not the most healthy dinner, he thought, but it would do.

Then he opened the fridge door again and reached out for a bottle of beer. He hesitated, He had been breaking his no-alcohol-on-weekdays rule a couple of times over the past weeks. He should not do it again, he resolved, and took a soda instead. Patrick gathered his plate and bottle and went to the patio. He sat down at his usual spot, quickly ate his sandwiches and lit a cigarette. He was satisfied with his day. Even though Phyllis was a rather particular woman, he was certain that she would be a good fit to lead the TB programme and he could delegate any related task to her without having to worry.

Patrick slowly inhaled the smoke from his cigarette and began to unwind. He wished Shelagh was here, curled up to him, and he imagined a conversation with her about their day and about a future he had begun dreaming of during his solitary evenings but dared not think of during daytime. He tried to remember her smell from about a week ago when they had sat together and he imagined her warmth, snuggled into him, his arm around her shoulder.

If only she could love him back, they would be able to sit here every night and share stories about their day and simply take comfort in each other’s presence. Then he imagined Shelagh together with Tom and a cold shiver ran down his spine.

Patrick silently called himself a sentimental old fool but he could not fight his affection for her. If only she could give him a sign, or else he would never dare again to let her know how he felt. He was still too ashamed about that one kiss from day of the fete.

Patrick drank the last sip of his soda and went to the kitchen to get himself another bottle.


	17. Owner of a lonely heart

Early next morning, Patrick arrived at his office still elated from yesterday’s success. He was also looking forward to his day. Later this morning, he would hand over any duty connected to the TB project to Phyllis and then, finally, be able to cut back on his long hours a little.

To celebrate the day, he had suggested he pick up Timothy from school a little early and they would spend the afternoon with ice cream and shopping for some new DVDs and other things around the market.

Patrick had just poured himself a cup of coffee, when his phone rang. “Shelagh, good morning!” he exclaimed. “I am still energized from yesterday. What a day we had.”

“Yes, indeed,” Shelagh chuckled, amused at his outburst. “Listen, Patrick, I am sorry to bother you, but is it possible that I left one of my folders in your car? I carried some paperwork with me yesterday and I am missing a green paper folder.”

“Well, I did not notice anything but let me check and I will call you back.” Patrick hung up and hurried outside to his car. He spotted the folder lying in the foot area of the rear seat through the closed window and immediately called Shelagh back.

“Shelagh, your folder is in my car. Do you want me to bring it round?” he asked.

“No, thank you, I would not want to impose. I can pick it up later. I have some errands to run this morning and will be all over town anyway. I can be at your office around noon. Would this be all right?”

“Of course,” Patrick replied. “I will be around.”

Almost three hours later, Patrick walked across KCMC campus. He had to deliver some paperwork to the Dean’s office and wanted to catch some air after the long handover session with Phyllis.

When he passed by the entrance of the emergency room, an ambulance arrived. He spotted a white woman on the gurney being wheeled inside. There was something vaguely familiar about her. Just as the door closed behind the paramedics, he knew: The woman was wearing a blue scarf, just like Shelagh’s.

Patrick felt his heart race and his breath caught. He clutched the folders he held under his arm tightly against his chest and spurted inside the ER. The woman was the only case staff were working on in the resuscitation area. Patrick approached the scene and felt like he must suffocate when he recognized the woman on the gurney: It was indeed Shelagh.

She was unconscious. She had a few cuts in her face, other injuries were not visible from where he stood. Patrick opened his mouth, he felt like screaming, but no sound came out. He stood frozen like a statue, unable to move. Suddenly he felt someone tugging at his arm.

“Mister? Mister? Are you her husband?” A nurse was trying to get his attention. He looked at her as if he did not understand her words. “I am sorry, Mister, but you cannot stay here. You must go to the waiting area immediately.”

The nurse had to talk at Patrick for several minutes and eventually drag almost violently at his arm until he was able to move. He realized that he of all people should know he would only stand in the way of the medical staff. But the thought of leaving her alone made him sick to his stomach and he needed to force himself to move.

Just before he was to turn around towards the door, he spotted the blue striped scarf on the floor next to Shelagh. Patrick quickly walked over, lifted the scarf and shook it lightly to get off any dust. Then he slowly went towards the waiting room, watching out for Shelagh as long as it took until the door to the emergency room shut.

The waiting area was almost empty, save for an elderly woman with a girl the age of Timothy who seemed to be her granddaughter. Patrick threw the folders he had been holding carelessly on a chair and sat down on the one next to it. He buried his face in her scarf and breathed in her scent. He panted with bitterness. This was as close as he had ever come to take her into his arms. He got dizzy from her sweet scent. Soap, something with lemon, perhaps, he thought.

Patrick let out a groan and jumped up, still clutching the scarf, pressing it to his chest. He began pacing the room, not caring that the elder lady and the young girl watched him intently. He took out his cigarettes and tried to light one while the scarf was draped over his left arm, but his hands were shaking so much he hardly managed. When he finally succeeded, he stood still until the cigarette was completely smoked. He instantly lit another one and then a third one, without any effect on him.

He began pacing the room again and wondered when somebody would come talk to him about her condition. He painfully was taken back a little over one and a half years ago when he had been in a similar situation and Marianne’s life had been at stake. He thought how ironic it was that he had been waiting in this exact same waiting room back then. Never again had he wanted to go through these agonizing hours, and here he was.

Then it dawned on him that he had no right to receive any information about Shelagh. He was not related to her, not by any kind of private or professional relationship. And most likely Shelagh would not even want him to know anything about her status. She was his love, his secret love, but not his lover, he thought bitterly. And he was not hers.

Since he had white skin and a hospital badge, he would probably be given any information he asked for, but he hated to play out his privilege. Technically, Sister Julienne would probably be considered Shelagh’s next of kin and Patrick suddenly felt embarrassed about not having thought earlier about informing her. He pulled out his phone from and dialled her number.

Sister Julienne arrived barely fourty-five minutes late, followed by Fred and Trixie.

“Dr Turner, how is she? What happened to her?” the nun asked, voice trembling.

Patrick shrugged his shoulders. “I am sorry, I have no clue. I happened to pass by the ER just when the ambulance arrived but I have not yet spoken to anyone.”

One more hour passed until a doctor came into the waiting area. He informed the group that a truck whose brakes had been failing while driving downhill had hit Shelagh. She had just gotten off a taxi in front of the KCMC compound when the truck came running and had not been able to evade the vehicle.

Shelagh had suffered a traumatic brain injury, her left leg was broken and her left lung punctured. She had also suffered an injury to the spine but with the available means, the doctors were not able to assess the severity of that latter injury. She was now being transferred to the ICU until she was stable and the doctor recommended having her evacuated to Nairobi or a British hospital, depending on what her health insurance would cover.

Sister Julienne’s face had lost all colour; it was almost ashen. Trixie had to blink back her tears and even the unshakeable Fred had to sit down because his legs would no longer sustain him.

Patrick, too, felt tears sting in his eyes. Everything should be done to save her – and right now, he was not able to do anything, even though he was a doctor. Her condition was very serious. Patrick was appalled by the irony in this case. Only a few weeks ago, on their way to Arusha, they had talked about how traffic accidents were among the main causes of deaths in Tanzania. Now her life was hanging by a thread and he was not even allowed to see her, to sit with her.

A nurse arrived and fetched Sister Julienne who was allowed to sit with Shelagh for a while. Trixie and Fred sat next to each other holding each other’s hands while Patrick had retreated to one corner of the room, leaning against the wall, occasionally lighting a cigarette until the packet he had bought the same morning was empty.

While he slowly walked to the waste bin to discard the empty packet, his phone rang. He took it out of his pocket and felt another punch in the gut. Timothy. He had forgotten to pick up his son.

“Timothy!” He exclaimed, “I am sorry, I am on my way.” He hung up, not allowing his son to even utter one word, conceding to the fact that his son would now be even madder than he already was. But he felt that if he now explained the situation, he might just break down on the spot.

Patrick told Trixie and Fred that he needed to go to pick up his son and asked to be informed about any news regarding Shelagh. Then he hurried to his office to pick up his bag. He almost bumped into Tom on his way out. Not feeling inclined to explain anything to his younger colleague, he only shouted: “Late to pick up my boy!”

 

Patrick did not bother to fetch his car but jogged the way to the compound of the International School. Even though the school was so close to his workplace, pupils were not allowed to leave the compound on their own. Hence, Timothy always had to wait for his father to pick him up, even when he was late.

Timothy sat on a bench near the gate, flicking through a comic book. Already from afar, Patrick could spot his son’s disappointed expression. When he came nearer, Timothy angrily spat: “Don’t give me any more excuses. You just forgot as you always do.”

Patrick, out of breath and with sweat running down his temples sat down next to his son and swallowed hard. “Timothy, I am sorry. Yes, I forgot, but there is a reason.”

Timothy breathed in and wanted to complain even more but his father shut him down by firmly squeezing his arm. “Timothy, Shelagh had an accident this morning. I have been waiting for news from the ER all day, this is why I forgot. I am sorry.”

Patrick looked Timothy in the eyes, his face deeply worried. He saw his son’s expression change from anger to shock. “Dad, Shelagh? What happened? Is she…?”

“No, Timothy, she is alive and in the ICU but she is in critical condition.”

Patrick saw Timothy’s eyes fill with tears. It tore his heart and he pulled his son into a tight embrace. It felt almost like the day Marianne had died, so suddenly and without warning and he knew that this was exactly what his son remembered now.

They clung to each other for a long moment until Patrick said: “I think we should get out of here. How about go someplace, have our ice cream?” Timothy snuffled and nodded, his expression still terrified. Then, father and son got up and walked back to the KCMC compound.

 

Later, when it was already dark outside and they had finished their dinner, Patrick and Timothy sat down in their living room together and Patrick dialled Sister Julienne’s number. She did not answer and Patrick put down his phone. Then he put his left arm around his son’s shoulder and drew him to his chest. He lowered his cheek onto Timothy’s hair and they listened to each other’s breathing and heartbeats. They had sat like this very often in the days and weeks following Marianne’s death, trying to seek comfort in each other.

A few minutes later, Patrick’s phone rang. It was Sister Julienne.

When Patrick hung up, Timothy impatiently shouted: “How is she, Dad? Tell me, she is doing okay?”

“No news, I am afraid,” Patrick replied. “Sister Julienne said that Shelagh is in a medically induced coma, meaning the doctors have put her to sleep which will help her body to heal. They hope that she will remain stable throughout the night. In this case they will be able to fly her out to London tomorrow on a medical evacuation flight.”

What he had not told Timothy was, that, while still in the ER, Shelagh’s heart had stopped several times. As of now, the doctors were not yet able to determine whether her brain had suffered any permanent damage. Sister Julienne had almost cried and had told him that she would spend the night with Shelagh until Trixie would take over in the morning and accompany her friend on the evacuation flight.

It had flashed Patrick’s mind for a second suggesting he might go with Shelagh instead. He was a doctor, after all - but then he thought how ridiculous this might sound. He had no business whatsoever going with her, she had closer friends than him. What’s more, he could not just leave his son and felt ashamed of not thinking about him.

 

After Timothy had gone to bed, Patrick went to the porch, sat down with his head resting heavily in his hands, elbows propped up on his legs, and cried. Last time he had cried so heavily it had been the day of his wife’s death. Now it was the day he might have lost the one woman who had been able to show him a way out of his grief – but she might never know.

As during the time of Marianne’s death, he felt utterly helpless. He was a doctor, but what good came out of it when he could not save the women he loved? He also felt desperate. Why had he never mustered the courage of telling Shelagh how he felt about her? Now he might never get the chance to do so. He felt sick to his stomach and almost threw up his dinner.

Much later, Patrick felt as if he was empty, no longer able to cry. He rubbed his face with his hands and suddenly noticed that it had become much too chilly to sit outside in a shirt with rolled up sleeves. A look on his watch showed him that is was already past midnight and he slowly got up. He was certain he would not find a wink of sleep but he made himself go to bed.

 

The next morning, Patrick had decided to stay at home with Timothy as the boy was still upset by the events of the prior day. Phyllis had gladly agreed to cover for him. The minutes dragged on until it was eight-thirty, a time, Patrick considered appropriate to enquire about the latest news regarding Shelagh.

He called Sister Julienne again. This time, she answered her phone immediately. She was still at KCMC where Shelagh had just been loaded into an ambulance taking her to the plane for her medical evacuation to London.

Patrick drew in a relieved breath. He was thankful for the doctors at KCMC who had saved her life so far, but he was painfully aware that they were in a developing country. The sooner she could be evacuated to a better equipped hospital, the better her chances.

He thanked Sister Julienne for her update, hung up the phone and explained everything to Timothy. They spent the rest of the day at home, watching DVDs, eating sweets and trying to stay out of Teresa’s way. Patrick kept checking his phone every few minutes, even though he was aware he would most likely not receive any news. Now that she was stable and evacuated, no one would probably think of contacting him on a regular basis.

That night, he sat again outside, this time without crying but still in pain. He still agonized over his inability of never having talked to her about his feelings and now possibly being too late. Even though she would have arrived in London by now, her condition was still critical and he knew very well that complications might occur any time.

Suddenly he could no longer bear the pain. He threw away his half-smoked cigarette and jumped up. He went inside and paced around his living room when suddenly his eyes fell on the small mahogany tableau he had had made for Marianne from a local carpenter for their first Christmas in Moshi.

If he could not tell her in person, he could at least write the words down for her and hope that one day, she might read them. He had not written a letter by hand in – he could not even remember. For the most part of their early years together, he and Marianne had lived in different cities or even countries. This had been the time prior to mobile phones and emails and he still had their many letters neatly bundled and carefully packed away in a cardboard box among their household items kept at Granny Parker’s house.

He had enjoyed writing them and to his deep satisfaction, Marianne, a professional writer, had always praised his style and his way with words.

Patrick retrieved a few sheets of paper from the tableau and went to fetch his favourite pen from his bag. Then he sat down at the dining table. It took him several attempts to get into a flow of writing, but once he stopped, he only finished after he had filled two entire sheets.

Patrick folded the papers and put them into an envelope which he then put away into the drawer of his nightstand. He decided that as soon as she would regain consciousness he would send his letter.


	18. What a feeling

The weeks dragged on and Patrick kept fighting his urge to ask about Shelagh more often than it seemed appropriate.

The first days after her accident, he had called Sister Julienne every morning until he felt it would probably not be considered appropriate for him to continue his calls. Afterwards, he had to wait for his fortnightly volunteering at the antenatal clinic to receive an update on Shelagh’s progress.

After about one week at a London ICU, the doctors had slowly woken her up from the coma. Neurological tests had given no indication for any brain damage. From what he heard from Shelagh’s colleagues every two weeks, she was on her path to recovery, although slowly. Apparently, her hip and spine had been crushed and it was yet to be determined whether she would ever be able to walk again without pain. She had had several operations and would need many months of intense physical therapy at a special rehabilitation unit.

After almost six weeks at the hospital, Shelagh could transfer to St. Anne’s rehabilitation centre near London where she was supposed to stay for at least six more weeks. She might even have to spend Christmas there, depending on her progress, Trixie had told Patrick one afternoon. She regularly talked to Shelagh via Skype and even planned to visit her, combining it with a long planned stay at her family during Christmas.

Patrick felt sorry for Shelagh. If anyone did not deserve a fate like this it was Shelagh who in his eyes was someone very close to a saint. He would have liked to talk to and see her via Skype, too, but he feared to impose. After she had regained consciousness again, he had considered sending her an email, much quicker than a handwritten letter - but then he realized that he only had her work contact. Certainly, her emails would be forwarded to her colleagues.

Thus, he made it a habit of sitting down every few nights to write a letter to her. He would write about his work, about Timothy and tell some anecdotes. But the main part of the letters was always his emphasis on his feelings and his hope that one day they might be able to talk to each other in the open – no matter how she felt about him, he wished they could remain friends and he would always respect her wishes, whichever they were.

 

Shelagh did not remember her accident, nor the first two weeks after waking up from her coma. Only then did she slowly remember bits and pieces. Sister Winifred, a Sister close to age in Shelagh, had visited her daily. She was based at the Order’s Nonnatus House in Poplar and had been tasked to support Shelagh throughout her illness since she did not have any relatives in the area.

From those early weeks, Shelagh only remembered the pain and the certainty that this accident somehow marked a turning point in her life. Even though doctors assured her that she would very likely be healed completely, even if it might take up to two years, she was certain that she would never return to her former life.

But she just was not able to see which path God wanted her to take. In the many hours she spent in solitude in her hospital bed, hardly able to move on her own, she looked out of the window, either into the faint October sun or the grey clouds announcing the coming of autumn, and pondered about her wish to join the order and whether this accident might have been a forceful sign to tell her that now was the time.

Then she saw Patrick Turner’s warm eyes looking at her, his mouth crooked in an affectionate smile, his skin so craggy that she felt the urge to smoothen it with her fingers. But what would it mean to commit her life to a man, to a family? She did not know and was not certain whether she was good enough for it.

And then, five weeks into her stay at the hospital, a thick envelope from Tanzania arrived. Sender: Dr P. Turner.

Shelagh held it in her hands for a long time, unable to open it. She would not have been able to decide what to do if the envelope had not slipped out of her hand while she was dozing off. Holding quite a heavy load, the far-travelled, crumpled paper envelope tore open when it hit the floor and its contents spilled out.

Shelagh was startled awake from the bumping sound of paper touching down on the floor. Because she was not able to get hold of the papers herself, she had to ring for a nurse for help. Shelagh gasped when she counted six letters, all put in separate envelopes.

The envelope also held a postcard with a picture of Mount Kilimanjaro with a get well soon-message in Timothy’s boyish scrawl. Shelagh then discovered a note from Patrick in his doctor-scrawl, dated almost two weeks earlier: _Dear Shelagh, I am sorry you are getting our letters so late but we only found out your address today. Get well soon, we miss you. Patrick Turner_

“Well, someone is missing you,” the nurse commented cheekily, but Shelagh chose to ignore her. She was puzzled. Why would Patrick send her so many letters? Deep inside she had a suspicion of what she might read in his letters, but she did not know whether she was ready to face it. So she decided to put the letters away into her nightstand and only kept Timothy’s postcard out to remind herself of her second home.

She regularly talked to Trixie via Skype but she did not mention her troubles to her friend. She didn’t even dare ask about Patrick, even though she constantly thought about him. Trixie had told Shelagh that Dr Turner had come across the ER just when Shelagh had arrived in the ambulance. Shelagh had secretly been hoping to hear from Dr Turner but now she had, she did not dare to open his letters.

Tom had proved to be a loyal friend, too, regularly writing, texting and skyping with her. In early November, he returned from Tanzania and visited her at St. Anne’s. Only half an hour into his visit, Shelagh had brought up all her courage and asked whether he considered her a friend or possibly more. Tom admitted that he wished for her being more than just his friend, but he understood if it wasn’t to be and they parted on good terms that day.

In early December, Sister Julienne visited Shelagh. She had attended the annual programme planning meeting for the African mission countries at the Mother House in Chichester and visited Shelagh for a few hours before returning to Moshi.

It was then that Shelagh spoke with someone for the first time about everything that troubled her. About her belief that her accident was meant to show her a new path in life. And that she was not sure whether God wanted her to move into the direction of a religious life or into the opposite direction.

After Sister Julienne had left, Shelagh felt sad and empty. She was again able to slowly walk on her own, supported by crutches. Every afternoon when all her treatments were finished, she slowly limped though the hospital garden, damp and cold, to enjoy the quiet and trying to find solace in nature. Until one day, about one week after Sister Julienne’s visit, she witnessed a scene she would never forget in her life.

Shelagh watched another patient welcoming her visitors. The woman was about Shelagh’s age and sat in a wheelchair. Shelagh watched how she hugged a small girl, perhaps six or seven years, with her left arm while her other arm was wrapped tightly around the waist of a man. The heads of mother and daughter rested firmly on the man’s abdomen. Shelagh was unable to tear away from watching them, taking in the joy and serenity the three people radiated.

Suddenly she noticed how exactly the same scene with her, Timothy and Patrick played out in her mind. First she startled at this thought, but then she felt peace seeping through her.

She had found her answer.

 

By the middle of December, Patrick’s and Timothy’s Christmas holiday began. Because he had several meetings at Durham, Patrick had managed to free his son from school ten days before the official holidays began. Therefore they arrived after an overnight flight very early at Heathrow on a sunny but cold December morning.

As usual, Patrick rented a car and the Turners drove to Granny Parker’s house. When they arrived, Mrs. Parker was already waiting for them with breakfast ready. After Marianne and he had given up their flat, just before moving to Moshi, Mrs. Parker had suggested she vacate the upper floor of her house for the Turners moving most of their belongings there. Thus, every time Timothy and Patrick arrived at the Parker house, it felt like coming home to them.

After a warm hello from Mrs. Parker, Patrick carried their suitcases upstairs. Then he remained in his bedroom for just a few minutes to take in the presence of his late wife. He looked around at the furniture they had bought just after getting married and smelled the still lingering, faint scent of Marianne.

He still missed her terribly. Obviously, when he stayed here, at her mother’s house, he became yet more aware that she was no longer with them. But he also noticed that it felt somehow different being here this time. The pain had become bearable. It had slowly been replaced by a longing.

As much as he had been looking forward to returning home he had also been nervous, aware how close to the place Shelagh was he would be staying.

Timothy wanted them to visit her but Patrick had deflected his son’s wish, arguing that Shelagh was still rather ill and needed her rest. From what he had heard last from Sister Julienne, Shelagh was well on her way to recovery, but he was not sure whether he might be a welcome visitor. She had never replied to any of his letters, nor had she contacted him via any other means of communication.

He knew that she must have received the letters because she had once written a short letter accompanied by a postcard from St. Annes, the words “the view of my window” written on its back to Timothy. She had thanked him for his postcard and his father for his “kind letters”. But no word to Patrick.

Patrick heard his mother in law call his name. Breakfast was ready and he suddenly noticed how hungry he was and how much he could do with Mrs. Parker’s famous full English breakfast.

One hour later, the Turner men had finished their breakfast to the last crumb and agreed that they needed to go out shopping for some winter clothes for Timothy. The boy had grown so much since last winter and did not even have a warm coat, save warm jumpers or shoes for the cold weather.

Just when Patrick walked out of the kitchen to get his car keys, his phone rang. He assumed it was something about work and answered absent-mindedly. But then his breath hitched. It was Shelagh.


	19. Crazy little thing called love

“Shelagh?” Patrick almost whispered.

“I have been discharged,” he heard her voice, thinly, almost shaking. “I am supposed to go to Chichester, but I won’t,” she continued.

“Why is that?” he asked, baffled.

“I thought, for a long time that I was in the wrong place. But I wasn’t. I was just living the wrong life,” she said carefully.

“I wrote to you,” he remarked meekly. “I don’t know if I have said too much or not enough.”

“You said, what was necessary. And I am coming into London.”

“When?” he asked.

“Today,” she responded, her voice now firm.

“But you still have to convalesce,” he protested. “And you certainly should not travel by public transport in your condition.”

Before Shelagh could reply, Timothy barged in, shouting “Dad! I am waiting, we have to go.”

Patrick furiously looked at his son and shouted: “Timothy, not now!” Then he spoke into his phone: “I am sorry, someone is very impatient right now.”

“I understand,” came the soft-spoken reply. “Please let me not keep you.”

Before Patrick could say anything else, she had hung up. “Timothy, what is wrong with you,” he shouted at his son, still agitated. “I was just talking to Shelagh and now she hung up.”

“Then call her back,” Timothy remarked dryly, “but don’t shout at me.”

For a moment, Patrick was undecided what to do next. Then he grabbed his car keys and ran out of the door. Timothy ran after his father and almost jumped into the car, next to his father. “We are not going shopping, Tim,” Patrick barked at his son.

“I thought I’d come with you,” Timothy said, apparently familiar with how his father’s mind worked. “I assume you are going out to Shelagh, right?”

Patrick looked at his son with a curious expression while starting the engine and driving off. It was a good hour’s drive to St. Anne’s rehabilitation facility, the GPS leading him the way. During the drive he broke the speed limit several times, and he tried to call Shelagh repeatedly, but she did not answer her phone.

When they arrived at St. Anne’s and asked for Shelagh, the friendly receptionist told them that Miss Mannion had left about an hour ago, after having asked for instructions how to get into London by public transport.

Patrick cursed. They had missed her and he was not certain where to look for her. He quickly walked towards his car, Timothy in tow, and lit a cigarette on the parking lot. Timothy did not dare to say anything out of fear of upsetting his father even more.

After he had deeply inhaled a few drags, Patrick indicated Timothy to get into the car. He slowly drove off. Gone had the agitation from earlier, causing him to speed. Now he felt he had to take his time to gather his thoughts.

While they were driving along the narrow road leading to the main road, Timothy suddenly shouted: “Dad! There is a woman in the wrong clothes! I think it’s her!”

Patrick’s breath stopped. Yes, it was her. She was wearing tight jeans and a light cardigan, garments absolutely unfit for a cold and misty December day.

She drew a trolley suitcase behind her and wrapped around her neck was her blue striped scarf. She walked with a slight limp and seemed incredibly frail and thin.

Patrick slowed down the car when they were just a few metres behind her. At the same moment, Shelagh turned around and Patrick stopped the car.

Both looked at each other for a moment, neither unable to move. Then Patrick slowly got out of the car and strode over to Shelagh. He stood in front of her, raising his hand and in an awkward movement put it on her forehead, as if to check for a fever.

Shelagh looked at him with an expression of gratefulness and love.

“What if it had started snowing? What if you had gotten lost?” Patrick asked affectionately.

“I was lost. I got the wrong bus,” Shelagh replied ruefully. Later, she would explain her anger at herself at realizing she had taken the wrong bus and having to walk back to the bus stop near the main road since there would not be another bus for two hours.

Patrick shrugged off his warm coat and put it around Shelagh’s shoulders. He held it by the lapel and the pair looked at each other intently. “Don’t you have a warm coat?” he asked, worriedly. “We can’t have you catching a cold.”

Shelagh smiled. “It was unusually warm until last week. And I don’t have any of my warm things here, they’re in store at Nonnatus Mother House.”

Suddenly, Patrick noticed Timothy from the corner of his eyes. The boy had come up between them, curious what was going on and clearly happy to see Shelagh again.

Shelagh hugged the boy tightly and Timothy began asking all sorts of questions. Shelagh happily answered them until Patrick suggested they get out of the cold and back into the car.

During their drive back to Granny Parker’s, Timothy kept asking questions and told stories about what had happened in Moshi during Shelagh’s absence.

In the meantime, Shelagh and Patrick kept glancing at each other. Patrick felt overwhelmed with affection and repeatedly rested his left hand on Shelagh’s knee. At one occasion, he noticed her gaze linger on his hand and he realized that he was still wearing his wedding ring. He made a mental note to take it off as soon as they were home and he had gotten the chance to explain it to his son.

It was past noon when they arrived at Mrs. Parker’s again. Patrick introduced Shelagh to his mother-in-law as a colleague from Moshi who had just been discharged from a rehabilitation facility. He explained that he had offered her to stay for the night as she did not have any family in the vicinity.

Mrs. Parker sensed that there was more to the story but knew that Patrick would tell her as soon as he felt ready - or perhaps when neither Timothy nor the frail looking young woman were present.

For the time being, she demonstrated her sense of practicality. She suggested she and Timothy go out to buy the poor boy his much needed winter coat and stay out for a dinner of fish and chips.

After Timothy and his grandmother had left, Shelagh said: “Mrs. Parker is a very nice lady. She has no reason to invite me, but she told me I might stay as long as I needed.”

“Indeed she is, always has been,” Patrick replied while carefully placing cups, saucers and a few biscuits onto a tray. Shelagh watched him prepare their tea while he continued: “In fact, we had a long conversation last summer, Beth and me. She explained that it was important for me to move on.”

Shelagh hummed and Patrick looked at her. Both froze, their eyes locked. One minute later, the soft click of the kettle brought them back again. Shelagh smiled shyly and Patrick poured the hot water from the kettle into the tea pot.

“Shall we go upstairs then?” he suggested and nodded towards the kitchen door. Shelagh smiled at him and slowly walked towards the stairs in the hallway. Patrick was behind her and he noticed how carefully she climbed the stairs, taking one at a time, clearly still in pain.

“First door to the right,” he directed her to the small room where his and Marianne’s sitting room furniture had been put up.

They entered the makeshift living room and Shelagh sat down in one corner of the settee. Patrick poured their tea, handed her a cup and decided to sit down next to her but leave sufficient space between them, uncertain how she might feel about being so close to him.

Shelagh looked down at her cup and Patrick stated: “You are wearing your scarf. The colours suit you so well.”

Shelagh smiled shyly and looked down into her lap at the ends of her scarf. “Sister Julienne brought it. She told me you found it in the ER.” Then she looked up again, firmly into his eyes: “Sister Julienne said you were staying with me while I was in the ER. Thank you.”

Patrick swallowed, reminded of the painful memory. “Nothing to thank me for,” he replied gently. “I happened to come by and… and I saw you. I couldn’t, -“.

While he spoke, Shelagh put down her cup and stilled him by placing her left hand on his right arm. She looked at him intently and said: “I know you so little but I could not be more certain.”

Patrick felt his heart rush. “I am completely certain.”

Shelagh took in a deep breath and smiled shyly: “I am Shelagh.”

“Patrick,” he replied and a grin spread on his face.

“There, we’ve made a start,” Shelagh whispered, beaming all over her face.

Patrick could no longer restrain himself and bent forward to cup her face with his hands. He gently leaned his forehead against hers and sighed, clearly moved. From the movement of her eyelids he could tell her eyes were teary, and he, too, felt something sting his eyes.

“I love you,” he whispered. “I have loved you for so long and I was afraid I would never be able to tell you.”

Shelagh raised her hands and gently placed them over his. “I love you, too,” she whispered. “I was afraid of facing it, but I have loved you for a long time, too.”

They stayed in their position for a long moment. Then Patrick shuffled yet closer to her and gently pulled her into a tight embrace. He buried his face in her hair and breathed in her scent. Shelagh slid her arms around his waist and pressed her body close to his. Patrick leaned back against the backrest of the sofa and Shelagh rested her cheek against his chest, listening to his heartbeat, calming her, making her feel at home.

They might have remained like this for five minutes or one hour, neither could tell afterwards. All of a sudden, Patrick said: “When I say I am completely certain, I want you to know that this is true. I am completely certain and I would marry you in an instant – but I won’t ask you today. You deserve a proper wedding proposal and a ring.”

Shelagh laughed while the tears she had been fighting to hold back earlier finally ran over her cheeks. She leaned back and looked Patrick into his eyes. “I am so very happy you came today,” she whispered.

Patrick slowly lowered his head and kissed her very gently on her lips. Shelagh sighed barely audible and responded to his kiss. They kissed until they both were short of breath and had to stop, both panting heavily while laughing at the same time.

“Have you always been this thin,” Patrick suddenly asked. “Didn’t they feed you properly at St. Anne’s?”

Shelagh looked at him affectionately. “I lost some weight. All the time… I, I often did not feel like eating. I was… I was busy thinking about whether the accident was meant to tell me that my life needs to take a new direction.”

Patrick looked at her earnestly, then kissed her carefully on the lips and cupped her cheeks with his hands. “Just so you know I am going to feed you. You need to put on some weight. I don’t want the next breeze to blow you away from me again.”

Shelagh chuckled and hugged him tightly.

After a short while, Patrick leaned back, watching Shelagh’s face intently. His mien changed and his look became more earnest when he began speaking: “I have to go to Durham for three days tomorrow morning. Discussing the programme, annual planning meetings, that sort of stuff,” he said.

“Oh, I also have to leave tomorrow,” she said quietly. When he looked at her, eyebrows raised in a question, she explained: ”I was supposed to go to the Mother House today. There are procedures to be gone through. I will resign from my post so they can hire somebody else for the position. And I do have a few belongings which are kept there and which I would like to retrieve.”

After a short pause, she continued: “You know, I won’t be able to go back to Moshi with you anytime soon. I have to carry on with daily physiotherapy and other treatments for up to another year. I’ll have to see how and where to live from now on.”

Patrick gently brushed the outside of the fingers of his left hand over her cheek. “I am sorry for all that has happened. And whatever will come, I want to be there for you. Anything you need, you tell me and we will figure it out together.”

Shelagh nodded slowly and hugged him tightly, pressing her cheek against his, delighting in the faint stubble scratching her soft skin.

“I am afraid that Tim and I will need to go back, after the holidays,” Patrick murmured into her hair. ”Tim has to finish his school year. And I am on a contract until June. But I was going to discuss my future in the programme anyhow. And as things are now, I will see how quickly I can get out of my contract. I want to be near you, as soon as possible, you know. I do not want to wait any longer.”

Shelagh tightened her hug and hummed. She revelled in his scent and could not believe that she could ever have been afraid of getting close to him. There were still so many unresolved issues, but for now, in just this moment, she was exactly where she was supposed to be.

 

A few hours later, Granny Parker and Timothy had already retreated to bed, Shelagh and Patrick sat on the sofa again. While Timothy and his grandmother had still been out, Patrick had ordered some Indian takeout and had urged Shelagh to eat. She had done so, admitting that she suddenly felt quite an appetite.

Now they sat together, Patrick leaning against the corner of the sofa and Shelagh curled up at his side, her legs bent. They had their arms wrapped around each other and Patrick’s head rested on Shelagh’s. They occasionally whispered something to each other but mostly simply revelled in the closeness, taking immense comfort in being with each other.

At some point, Patrick noticed that Shelagh’s breathing became deeper and her body slumped lightly. Then she flinched and he said: “I think it is time to go to bed, don’t you think?”

Before she had retreated, Mrs, Parker had set up the guestroom for Shelagh. Patrick thought for a while about asking her to sleep in his bed but was afraid to suggest it out of fear of scaring her. So he walked with her to the guestroom and gently kissed her goodnight before retreating to his room. He wasn’t certain he would be able to sleep, but this time it was no more out of misery.


	20. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

„Oh no, Angela!“ Shelagh exclaimed.

„What did she do?“ Timothy asked curiously, while placing his empty cereal bowl into the dishwasher.

“She spat her porridge all over me. Ah, now I have to go change and we are already running late,” Shelagh said.

“Sorry, I am late, too, can’t help,” Timothy quickly shouted, grabbed his packed lunch and left for school.

“What’s all the noise?” Patrick asked while entering the kitchen. Spotting his wife’s blouse, he smiled. “Oh, I see, Angela told you that she is done with her breakfast.”

Shelagh looked at him angrily. Patrick quickly shrugged off his suit jacket and rolled up his shirt sleeves while he said: “You go upstairs and change, I will clean up the mess down here. We won’t little Miss have delay her Mummy on her first day back at work, right?”

Shelagh took in a deep breath and got up from her chair. She hastily cleaned off the remains of the porridge above the sink and turned around. She watched affectionately how her husband wiped their ten-month-old daughter’s face clean and then tickled the protesting girl’s chubby little chin to make her giggle.

Shelagh smiled warmly and went upstairs to change. Walking into her and Patrick’s bedroom, she looked affectionately at Angela’s cot, which the girl had almost outgrown. Soon the baby would move into her own room. She was growing so fast.

Shelagh pulled her blouse over her head and placed it on her bed. Before she went downstairs again, she would soak it in the bathroom. She opened her dresser, took out another blouse and quickly put it on. Her eyes fell on her blue striped scarf, neatly folded, which sat on the shelf where she kept her scarves and shawls. She put the scarf around her neck and watched herself in the mirror next to the dresser for a moment, adjusting her hair.

It was now a little over three years that she and Patrick had gotten married. After they had confessed their love to each other that cold day in December 2011, Patrick had proposed to her on Christmas Eve, the first evening they had spent all by themselves as a couple.

In early January 2012 Patrick and Timothy had returned to Moshi while Shelagh had stayed back in London for her daily rehabilitation sessions. At first she had been grateful for Mrs. Parker’s offer to stay at her house until about two months later when her health had further improved. She had then been able to take up a part-time position as family nurse with Nonnatus House in Poplar, a position that also provided lodgings.

The Turner men had returned to Moshi aware that they would not stay for long anymore. Patrick had negotiated to end his contract with Durham University by the end of April 2012 and Phyllis had taken over from him as director.

Timothy had even been able to return earlier; he had been able to transfer to his new school in March for the new term.

Only six weeks after Patrick had returned for good, he and Shelagh got married. It was a small and private ceremony with only Timothy and Mrs. Parker present as well as Sister Julienne and Trixie.

Then the couple had moved in with Mrs. Parker again. The arrangement was supposed to be temporary until they had found a place of their own. But after a few months of unsuccessfully searching for a house, Mrs. Parker had offered them to stay.

Even though the combination of former mother-in-law and new wife seemed odd to the occasional outsider, Shelagh and Mrs. Parker got along very well. While the former had lost her mother long ago, the latter had lost her daughter and this somehow had brought them together, along with their shared fondness for Timothy and his father.

After his return from Moshi, Patrick had first worked as a locum GP covering a doctor on maternity leave in the practice of a former colleague. Then, about one year after their wedding, he had taken over his own practice, located in Poplar, after the former GP had retired. This gave the couple the opportunity of regularly working together on the same cases because the young mothers and their children of Nonnatus House all were registered with Patrick as their GP.

Shelagh and Patrick wanted a child of their own very much but Shelagh did not conceive. Medical tests did not give a reason why not, but it simply did not happen.

One day some time after their second anniversary, Shelagh delivered the baby of a young mother living at Nonnatus House. The young woman, addicted to various substances, had made it clear from her first day at the facility that she did not want to keep her baby. Therefore, a social worker stood by during the birth. She would first take the new-born to a hospital where she would have to detox and then to a children’s home until hopefully a family was found to care for her.

Even though she had never considered adopting a child before, Shelagh had known the moment she held the little girl for the first time, crying heartbreakingly, that she wanted to keep her.

In the weeks that followed, she and Patrick fought very hard to become guardians of the baby. They had even asked Sister Julienne and Sister Monica Joan, the Superior of the Mother House, to testify on their behalf. Eventually, they had been allowed to adopt their little Angela.

The first months with baby Angela had been difficult. She had cried a lot and Shelagh soon gave up work to care for her daughter full time. Even though she had been dreaming of a baby for a long time, these first months with a new-born were much more strenuous than she had imagined and Shelagh often doubted her ability to carry on.

Only when Angela was about six months, the baby got more relaxed and the situation at the Turner household calmed. When the paediatrician confirmed that he could find no indication of Angela having suffered any neuronal damage due to her birth mother’s substance abuse, it was a reason to celebrate for the Turners.

At that time, Shelagh began to feel an urge to return to work. With her baby so little she had been able to negotiate a part-time agreement. At the same time, Patrick had cut down his own schedule a little and Granny Parker had offered to help out, too, thus everyone got their share with watching baby Angela.

Shelagh sighed and finished adjusting her hair. Then she quickly threw the dirty blouse into the bathroom sink to soak and hurried downstairs. Even though everyone at Nonnatus House was very supportive, she did not want to be late on her first day back at work.

When she entered the kitchen, she saw Patrick holding a laughing Angela, both watching the birds in the backyard. Shelagh felt her heart leap. She could not believe how much her life had changed. Just three years ago she had almost felt certain that she was called to the religious life.

Yes, she had been called, but the path she had taken had been the right one and she could never be more certain of it, she thought.


End file.
